


Love in the time of Covid-19 (Mystrade Advent Calendar)

by MorganeUK



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Anthea (Sherlock) is the Best PA, Crepes, Established Sherlock Holmes/John Watson, Even Sherlock ship it, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Greg is the best future boyfriend, Kissing, Love in the Time of Covid-19, M/M, Minor Sherlock Holmes/John Watson, Mystrade Advent Calendar 2020, Mystrade Prompt Challenge, Non-Graphic Smut, Pining Greg Lestrade, Pining Mycroft, drunk!Greg
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-01
Updated: 2021-02-21
Packaged: 2021-03-10 03:15:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 24
Words: 24,824
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27777484
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MorganeUK/pseuds/MorganeUK
Summary: While trying to avoid Christmas and dealing with an epidemy, an eminent yet secretive member of the British Government found a reason to embrace it! One chapter per day following the automatic prompt of the “Mystrade Christmas Generator”** One chapter a day, who am I kidding? **
Relationships: Mycroft Holmes & Greg Lestrade, Mycroft Holmes/Greg Lestrade, Sherlock Holmes/John Watson
Comments: 151
Kudos: 150
Collections: Mystrade Holiday 2020





	1. December 1st

**Author's Note:**

> beta-read by the wonderful Notjustamum! Any remaining errors are mine and only mine :-)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A visit to Fortnum & Mason

“Anthea!” The voice called a bit louder to rise above the noises of the store, “ANTHEA!”

The woman finally realised someone was calling her and turned in the direction of the man recognizing him instantly in spite of his mask. “Oh, DI Lestrade, how are you?”

With a smile showing up in his eyes and his cheeks, Greg shook his head, “Great, so you are still going on with Anthea. I was under the impression that you frequently change and –“

“Yes, I do but Anthea is always one of my favourites,” the young lady interrupted. “What can I do for you, Sir?”

“Oh, don’t be so formal. Are you doing your Christmas shopping?”

Looking around her, she frowned at the crowd that was looking huge after months of restrictions even if it was probably half of what it used to be and the loud but tasteful Christmas carols coming from the store’s speakers. “Is there another reason to be in a shop in December, especially when a pandemic is still raging?”

“I thought that you usually reserved a whole store for yourself or found someone to do the shopping for you!” The man laughed before thinking, “oh… you are doing Mister Holmes’ shopping, aren’t you?”

“Yes.” The PA replied with a hint of embarrassment and exasperation. “Usually he simply orders in advance or reserves a private visit to a few stores but with Covid… it slipped both our minds.”

“But it’s still early, don’t worry, it’s only December 1 st .”

“Yes, but the tradition is to give to his parents a Fortnum’s advent calendar and as he is on his way to their home, we stopped on our way. It’s a miracle we were able to get one.” In fact, the director of the store had to take one that was reserved for a small member of the Royal family, but the most important was to keep Mister Holmes satisfied!

“You are lucky then…” Trying to look outside despite de people and the fully decorated windows, Lestrade guessed, “so… he’s in the car, waiting?”

“Yes,” Anthea sighed as a personal shopper rushed in her direction with the box full of 25 delicious treats already fancily wrapped. “Finally! Please excuse me, Inspector, I am going to pay for my purchase. Best wishes for the season, despite everything that is going on.”

The policeman reciprocated without really paying attention as he walked in the direction of the exit.

Laughing silently, Anthea thought once more how DI Lestrade would be the perfect gift for her boss. 

“Miss, are you coming with me?”

“Yes, of course.” Still smiling, she walked towards the cashier’s desk preceded by the employee holding the box as if it was a gift from the Three wise men.

Mycroft was reading the latest news about the still denying soon to be ex-president Donald Trump when a small knock on his windows interrupted him. Pressing a button, he turned off the tinting only to see the face of Lestrade. Opening the window after he replaced his mask, he asked a bit confused. “Are you in the habit of knocking on car doors, DI Lestrade? If you want to give us a parking ticket, you will do better to talk with the chauffeur.”

“You know that your licence plate gives you full immunity… No one would dare to give you a ticket.” He chuckled while trying to find what to say next.  _ It was not a good idea, nice job Greg, who are you trying to fool? As if a man like Holmes would like to talk to a man like me. _

“You met Anthea inside I suppose?” Holmes said, wanting to help the poor man who was clearly struggling..

“Yes, so I knew it was your car. I am not in the habit of randomly knocking on posh-looking sedans until I find –“

“You found?”

“...someone _.” Oh my God, this is bad _ . “But not anybody you know… Someone to talk with. I mean, I am not randomly knocking on any car door while looking… Looking for…” He remained stoic, unable to continue.

“Oh you found Mister Holmes!” Anthea interrupted cheerfully before she moved behind the car waiting for the chauffeur to open the boot. 

“So, you were really looking for me, DI Lestrade. Can I help you?”

Jumping without over-thinking anymore, Greg blurted before his courage abandoned him. “Do-you-want-to-go-out-for-a-coffee-with-me.” After a pause, “or tea… I don’t mind.”

“Oh…” Holmes waited a minute, thinking about the possible innuendos under such an invitation, and frowned at the obvious. “You know that restaurant and coffee shop sitting areas are closed, right?”

Turning red at the reminder – it was part of his job to be a perfect example for the general public – Greg apologized, “oh yes, so, so sorry… don’t know what I was thinking and sorry again. Just forget that I said anything –“ 

He was about to just stop talking and run away when Mycroft proposed, “but we can go for a walk if you want. If we maintain a proper distance.”

“A walk! Yes, perfect, what about tomorrow?”

Secretly pleased at the other man’s eagerness, the government man nodded softly, satisfied that his mask was hiding the pinkish hues of his face. “Tomorrow is fine, I will contact you to confirm everything tomorrow morning, DI Lestrade.”

The detective objected softly, “you can call me Greg, you know.”

With a small smile, Mycroft replied, “Gregory.”

The moment was broken when Anthea entered the car from the other side. “Sorry Sir, but we are late and it was really cold outside.”

“Of course, you are right.” Turning his gaze back upon Lestrade, he murmured, “See you tomorrow, Gregory,” before closing the window.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompts from https://perchance.org/mystradexmas2018
> 
> Mystrade Christmas Generator prompt:  
> This story takes place shopping for gifts.  
> You must mention three wise men, use the word 'lucky', and include this line of dialogue: "What about tomorrow?"


	2. December 2nd

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Coffee & baubles

Greg was cleaning his desk using a bunch of paper tissues when Sally entered his office.

Knowing that it wasn’t Lestrade’s first mishap in the last hours – he bumped into a glass wall as well as accidentally pressed “print” for 100 copies of a cake recipe from the Great British Bake Off website - she teased, “What’s wrong with you today, boss? You are as clumsy as a lovesick puppy -”

“Donovan,” lifting his head, he automatically checked the red tape lines on the floor. Sadly, the woman was within the recommended distance. “Mind your own business, don’t you have somewhere to –“

Cutting him short, she chuckled. “You are a lovesick puppy! Oh, my God, finally, YOU’VE GOT A HOT DATE!”

Closing the door promptly before his subordinate alerted the whole of Scotland Yard, Greg protested without conviction. “No, nothing like that…” At her raised eyebrow, he sighed, defeated. “Not that it is anything that should concern you, but yes I have a… a something.” Frowning at the mere idea of having to put a name on what is going on between Mycroft and himself, he pushed the button of his personal coffee machine for a fresh cup of coffee. “A something that I want to eventually change for a… thing.”  _ What is it? Is it really a date? It is promising… isn’t? He was enthusiastic, wasn’t he? He called me Gregory. All this is giving me a headache; I really need caffeine. _ He turned his head to look at the bright but cold day outside.  _ He suggested the walk and it looks sunny enough. Of course, it’s December so it is a cold day but - _

“Boss?” Donovan called lightly.

“Hmmm?”

“The coffee.”

Still trying to assess the weather, he muttered, “what about the coffee?”

“It’s dripping on the floor… you forgot to put the cup under the nozzle.” Laughing earnestly now, she left the office thinking that it was better to wait another day to discuss Christmas’s schedule.

__

“No.” Mycroft said as he entered the lobby adjoining his office.  _ What's wrong with her? It’s that damn time of the year! _ To be certain that his opinion was  _ properly _ heard, he repeated, “No.”

Smiling a hypocritical grin ( _ Mycroft thought, not mine _ ), Anthea stepped away from a sumptuous Christmas tree. “Is there something the matter, Sir?”

“Who gave you the authorisation to –“, the government man waved his hands in front of him in the general direction of the tree, “that green gigantic glowing horror!”  _ What’s wrong with people? DI Lestrade wants to go for a walk! Sherlock has been checking for rings! _

Placing one last ornament, the PA stepped away to admire her handy work. “It is on the small side and you know it… and it’s only in the foyer, not in your office. You should see the one my friend Kelly put in her employer’s office! Nearly 3 meters high and –“

“Her Majesty likes that kind of nonsense and I don’t. If you want to go work with your friend and coordinate medal ceremonies and tea times with ambassadors, it can be arranged.” Holmes deadpanned as he opened the door of his office, hoping it was out of bounds from the ‘magic’ of Christmas.

Ignoring her boss’ attitude, Anthea followed Holmes and requested, “May I keep it, Sir? I worked really hard and it is quite posh, everything is coming from Selfridges!”

Rolling his eyes at the woman’s persistence, he finally bowed to her enthusiasm. “Fine. Know that I prefer when your head is not all excited by things as pedestrian as Christmas baubles even if they are 15 pounds apiece! But if I hear ONE carol…”

“You won’t!”

Shaking his head at the folly of all this - as if it was the time for gatherings and celebrations! - he shushed her away, closed his door and walked into the small bathroom attached to his office. Washing his hands to get rid of the antiseptic gel he applied religiously since he left his flat, he sighed at the tediousness of all this.  _ This is terribly hard on the skin, thank God for the hand cream Sherlock gave me. Maybe I can give a basket of products to Gregory for Christmas –  _ Stopping his thoughts at once, he sat at his desk to read the last reports before they reached the Department of Health.

An hour later he was about to call the Director of Public Health for a discussion about the future vaccination program and how to deal with the anti-vaxxers when he heard a small knock. “Yes?”

“Your 10 o’clock tea, Sir, also I just want to confirm that the weather is absolutely scrumptious for a good stroll –“

“A stroll?”  _ What is she talking about? _ “Oh… you heard.”

“Only if you want me too, Mister Holmes,” Anthea replied with an angelical face. “Do you want to  _ personally _ contact DI Lestrade to set-up a meeting point?”

The emphasis on personally wasn’t lost to Mycroft. “My dear, do not overthink all this, DI Lestrade probably wants to talk to me about my brother.” Suddenly panicking at the idea that it was really something more than just a friend-ish discussion, he mumbled, “there is nothing personal about all this, check my schedule for a half-an-hour availability and confirm with him a meeting point. The Whitehall Gardens will do.”

“Of course, I will take care of everything.”

Pushing away any thoughts about Lestrade, Holmes called Professor Fenton.

Sitting at her desk, Anthea shook her head at the idea of a 30 minutes walk in the small and confined Whitehall Gardens.  _ It won’t do! Yes, they are charming and right across Scotland Yard, but it is too small! St. James is better… you can go on for hours. Crossing to Green Park, then Hyde Park. I just need to find a way to bring them there.  _ Checking the Rolodex in her precious Blackberry _ ,  _ she smiled as she stumbled upon a name _. Yes, this could do the trick! _

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompts:
> 
> This story takes place at Scotland Yard.
> 
> You must mention a Christmas tree, use the word 'magic',  
> and include this line of dialogue:  
> "This is giving me a headache."


	3. December 3rd

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Like a walk in the park…

It was still early when Greg opened his eyes. In fact, he barely slept, his mind occupied with the memory of his ‘date’ with Mycroft. “Because, turned out it was really a date!” he said loudly to himself, just to make it real. Closing his eyes, he pressed his face into his pillow and screamed in glee as if he was an adolescent girl. "Can I enjoy this… Just a minute more before real life takes over." Turning on his back he replayed in his mind the perfectly wonderful time he spent with Mycroft.  _ I am not a genius with a Mind Palace but I have a decent memory… I am such a romantic fool.  _

Totally unaware that a few kilometres aways Mycroft was affected as well.

_ * Yesterday… (I know I am already cheating on the one chapter a day moral contract!) _

The day was bright but, as it was late in the afternoon, the night was going to fall within an hour or two. Stopping a moment as he walked out of the building, Greg admired the tall silhouette.  _ I still can’t believe he was there, waiting for me. _ Always elegant, the greatcoat he wore – not as flamboyant as Sherlock’s show-off Belstaff but as perfectly constructed – was dashing and complement perfectly his sophisticated appearance. The detective suddenly felt a bit underdressed for a second but it quickly faded as the excitement was taking over. “Mister Holmes,” he called unable to stop smiling, “right on time.”

Mycroft bowed slightly, a hand gracefully on the handle of his umbrella, “yes, as promised.”

“Where do you want to go?”

“I was thinking about Whitehall Gardens?”

“Excellent,” Greg started walking in the direction of the Gardens, keeping a step before the other man using the recommended two meters of distance to hide his disappointment.  _ Whitehall Gardens! Really!! It is one of the smaller parks in London! _ They remained silent as they walked the few minutes needed to reach the Richmond entrance before realizing that the gardens were closed for an urgent reparation to the paths or whatever. “Oh,” he said, faking disappointment perfectly, “we must go elsewhere.”

“We can go to St. James if you are so inclined,” Mycroft proposed with an indulgent smile, knowing perfectly why their destination was suddenly unavailable.  _ Anthea, that minx! _ “I know a little short-cut…”

Quickly thinking of the surrounding streets and what is the quickest to St. James, Greg laughed as he understood, “really? We can cross there?”

“Of course,” Mycroft protested with grandeur, “I am Larry’s friend!”

“Go on then, I am following you without hesitation and with great curiosity!”

The ice now broken, they walked up until they reached the gates closing Downing Street. One of the guards in function quickly ran to open a side door before standing back to let room as the government man was unmasked. “Mister Holmes, I wasn’t aware you had a meeting today. Please come in! Do you need a mask to go inside or do you have your own?”

“No, Smith, no meeting today. I am only avoiding traffic on my way to St.James.”

“Larry is going to be thrilled, you are one of his favourites! He’s on the last spot of sun available, right beside the Chancellor’s steps.” Closing the door, he never asked who the man with Holmes was knowing that it was better not to ask too many questions.

Larry was indeed relaxing, slightly opening his heavy eyes to look for the presence of anything suspicious. Opening his coat, Mycroft took a small bag of treats and kneel on one knee. The most important cat in the realm* rolled on his back, waiting to be petted by Mycroft. The austere man complied and gently brushed the feline head. "Just a minute more." After a few minutes of intense stroking, Mycroft finally gave him the treat before getting back up.

Greg grinned, “you like cats, I have no idea.”

“Most villains like cats, you know,” Mycroft deadpanned, “as in those James Bond movies.”

_ Bond! Maybe we could watch a movie next weekend? _ “Naaah, you are kind, you can’t deny it. Even if you like to play the cold secret sexy man.” Greg reddened as he realized what he just said!

“Giving a treat to the most spoilt cat in the UK isn’t kind, it is only a political –“ Mycroft stopped walking forcing the DI to step aside. “You said… sexy?”

Reading in the redhead turmoil that the compliment was not unwelcomed, he nodded, putting on a small timid smirk.

“Oh…” Confusion was clearly showing on the usually impassible face before he was able to calm himself and moved a hand toward the end of Downing street impasse. “Follow me, St. James is just there.”

The rest of the afternoon was relaxed, the conversation flowed on many subjects. It was easy, perfect. They walked for hours, eating warm chestnuts, seamlessly crossing from one park to one another until the sun started to fade on the horizon.

_ How are we supposed to end the day? I can’t suggest a glass of wine at my place… And I don’t know if such a thing would be of interest for him.  _ Greg was still musing when his phone chimed. “Sorry, it’s dispatch -”

“Yes, yes, I understand… take it.”

He quickly opened his phone, “Lestrade speaking! What is going on? Okay, I’m in Hyde Park, Marlborough Gate.”

As Mycroft overheard the detective asking for details, he understood that their walk was coming to an end.  _ It is better this way, less awkward. _

“I am so sorry, I have to go… A gruesome murder in Brixton.” He stepped near Mycroft with an extended hand – automatically hoping to turn the handshake in a farewell kiss – before realizing and pulling his arm back on his side. “That damn Covid!” Chuckling, Holmes opened a small bottle of antiseptic, washed his hand thoroughly and waited for Lestrade to do the same. After a few seconds, they slowly extended their arms while carefully staying straight and eagerly clasped their hands together. 

The touch, so innocent, felt like fire after months of carefully avoiding touching people. Especially for someone as tactile as Greg. “This is kind of ridiculous, being so… so emotional about a handshake. You better sort this thing Mycroft, as soon as possible.”

“I think your confidence in my power is a bit overrated. Contrary to what my dear brother says, I am not that omnipotent Gregory! But I will do my best.” Letting go of the detective’s hand just as Sally Donovan parked her car next to the park entrance, he added, “thank you for a wonderful afternoon, be careful.”

“Always,” with one last look Lestrade rushed and jumped in Sally’s car.

A small smile on his lips, Mycroft called his PA, “Anthea, you used your contact to close a park? Really?” His warm tone was the only clue the woman needed to know that the date went well.

“I am so sorry, Mister Holmes, I won’t do it again unless it is needed. Do you want me to send the car?”

“Yes, and Anthea, please find me the least incompetent high-level civil servant in the Health Department. I want to talk to them first thing tomorrow morning.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *
> 
> As my beta said: can you imagine, though? Mycroft would never touch anyone willingly in non Covid days. 
> 
> Yes! What a proof of how well he is with Greg :-)
> 
> *
> 
> Larry, Chief Mouser to the Cabinet Office https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Larry_(cat)
> 
> *
> 
> Prompt:  
> This story takes place early in December.  
> You must mention chestnuts, use the word 'kind', and include this line of dialogue: "Just a minute more."


	4. December 4th

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alone with his thoughts

A whole day after their afternoon together and the only thing that Mycroft could think of was Gregory. _This is why I shouldn’t work from home, not enough distraction! Yesterday I was fine! I did… things! My underground office, without any windows, is better for my concentration, maybe I could get a two meter portrait of the Queen to look over me?_ He frowned. _No, not here… here it is home._ He sighed, turning his chair to look outside as his mind woolgathered. Thinking about how Gregory’s cheeks became red as the temperature dropped; how his silver hair shone in the last ray of sun; how the conversation has been effortless but honest; how the touch of his hand when they parted ways was still engraved in his mind… _It was risk free but reckless in so many ways! I still don’t understand… what had changed? How is it possible to only talk about Sherlock for a decade and suddenly… talk about everything else?_

If he was honest, he must admit that the conversation was never only about his brother. Since their first meeting, at the younger man's side while he was admitted in detox, they always talked about him but also of many things not related to work.

Small talk relentlessly initiated by Lestrade. After the weather to start, Lestrade tried to learn if the government man was rooting for a sports team (even joking about the Guards Polo Club), about his hobbies… _Hobbies, as if I had time to do trivial things!_ was of course the automatic response. As the months and years went by, the secretive man started to share about his love of operas and progressive music or his participation in a global effort to translate the Harry Potter series in Latin and ancient Greek. Perceptive as he is, Mycroft was front row when the DI divorced his cheating wife and a great help when Lestrade’s cases flirted with politics and international diplomacy. 

Lestrade was of course, many years later, an unwilling witness of the Holmes’ family drama. Shame darkened Mycroft’s mood. _To think that Gregory knows about Eurus, about everything… That moment changed me, it was when my ice walls broke._

> Mycroft saw him first, stepping out of his car and running in the direction of the ambulance where he hugged John with force – the poor man was mentally and physically exhausted and completely drenched – then a reluctant Sherlock. Clearly worried by the state of the men he considered friends. Ashamed of his participation in the whole affair, the older brother tried to disappear in the darkness surrounding the scene, closing his eyes as he tried to order his thoughts… until a hand touched him softly. 
> 
> “Mycroft, are you alright? Have you talk with the medics?” His concern looked sincere.
> 
> Hiding the fact that the drugs she gave him left a horrible migraine and that he was barely able to stop shaking, he lied, “no need, she just locked me in the cellar. Nothing serious…” _Alone with my horrible thoughts with a video feed of John in the well as well as a few cameras following a frantic Sherlock._ After the exchange of few banalities, Lestrade left to organize the departure of Eurus – a personal favour to the Holmes – and one last talk with John and Sherlock. 

_Wonder what he said to convince Gregory to keep me company until my car arrived. With Sherlock faking his death, me voluntarily vague about my position, Eurus, he must think that secrets and deceptions are a family tradition. Why, why does he show interest in me?_

He was about to fall into a fit of melancholy instead of working when his phone rang. “Holmes.” 

It was Anthea. “Sir, just to let you know that your daily results are negative.”

“Thank you, please note that I am going to work from home today, let me know if something of importance occurs.”

“Yes, do you want us to go through with the NYS new protocol?”

“Yes, as soon as possible. Thanks.”

“It is any of my business, I know, but this is a bit… extreme don’t you think? Maybe you can –“

"Don't say a word." His tone wasn’t harsh, it was only the fear of Anthea making him change his mind. I need this.

Understanding the need of her mentor, the young woman silently nodded, “I will send the order, Sir.”

“Thank you dear, it’s been a long week, you can rest today… I won’t be needing you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Smallish, I know, work is kind of hellish right now :-(
> 
> Prompts:
> 
> This story takes place at home.  
> You must mention family traditions, use the word 'silver', and include this line of dialogue:  
> "Don't say a word."


	5. December 5th

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John met Greg in a pub

“I know that some people really miss their pub, but this is a bit too much don’t you think?” John surveyed the small pub, now crowded by cops and medics.

“Yes, breaking and entering your local to apparently kill yourself by slashing your wrists on the stained glass windows just to get a pint is a bit extreme.”

The doctor discreetly smiled – an (idiot) man is dead a few meters away after all – and asked with a poker face, “fancy a drink mate?”

“Stop it! You are becoming like him more and more.” Greg chuckled, shaking his head in despair, “talking of your genius, why does he still check for clues. This is an open and shut case.”  _ And it’s Saturday and we are all tired. _ “What a bloody end to a bloody week!” He mumbled with a sigh.

“I heard that it was not all bad…”

“What did you just say?” Lestrade asked in a panic before turning sharply to watch Sherlock.  _ Is this a smug smirk? Did they talk about me with Mycroft? _

“Don’t overreact, we just know that you went for a walk... together. That’s all.”

Stepping near John –  _ they both kept their masks thank God _ ! – he whispered, “don’t talk about things like that in public. Donovan is already on my case! She thinks I am lovesick!”

“And you are not?” John was about to deny knowing anything more when Sherlock walked energetically in their direction with a happy smile.

“Whaaaaat?” The DI moaned, as the idea of a calm evening disappeared.

“His scarf.”

“His scarf?”

“Yes, it is obvious, no?”

“Sherlock,” John warned, pinching his nose in exasperation, “we talked about that.”

“You are no fun, both of you,” the detective protested, waving his hands in the air in exasperation. “He wrapped his hands and forearms with his scarf so…” He waited a few seconds. “No trace of blood on the window panes… so…”

Finally admitting the only remaining option, Lestrade whined, “so… how is it possible for him to be dead on the floor.”

A tall silhouette objected from the back room, “maybe he committed suicide after he broke in –“

“ANDERSON, just shut-up!”

“Sherlock,” his boyfriend chided in a murmur, “play nicely, you know how the man revered you since your return!”

“For fuck sake,” Sherlock protested - the swearing John’s influence clearly - before adding loudly, “sorry Anderson, you have the right to have ideas even if in that particular moment it is completely ludicrous.”

“Boss,” Sally called from the door, interrupting the discussion, “someone is there for you.”

Still thinking about how to salvage his weekend, Greg shouted back, “not now!”

“It’s the medical teams, they won’t budge until they check everyone and you’ve been out of the office since yesterday morning –“

“Sorry to have a job to do, I’ll just ask people to stop killing other people! Tell them to go away, right now is not a good time.” Walking back in the direction of the corpse with Sherlock, he waited for the consultant theories. “When you want, mate, give me something. Anything.” But the man was lost in his thoughts, scraping bits of dirt and fibers under the scrutiny of Anderson’s puppy eyes.

“Nothing to do when he’s in this mood, except wait for him to acknowledge us.” John pointed to Donovan who was arguing with a man in a blouse, “what’s happening?”

“Yesterday, out of nowhere, people from the department of Health pooled at the Yard stating that we are now a test zone for the propagation of Covid.” Lestrade rolled his eyes at the stupidity of the situation, “completely ridiculous they want to test us EVERY DAY.” Smiling without saying a thing, the doctor waited for the rest of the story. “And they are in a fit because they are missing my sample! I am not a secretary, my job is out there, I don't know how they could be surprised that I am not sitting at my desk 8 hours a day!”

“And they rushed here. To find you at a crime scene. In the evening.” John stated, pausing between each sentence while trying to stay serious, “that is quite a dedicated team of professionals.”

“Still don’t understand how the NHS can spares nurses in the middle of a pandemic for something that ridiculous –“

“Yes, it’s like if they have a… secret motive.” The chuckled was now clearly audible.

“What’s so funny?“ Frowning in confusion, Greg finally understood.  _ Mycroft. _ “You don’t really think that –“

“He kidnapped us regularly just to have fresh news of his brother, of course it is Mycroft.”

“But this is ridiculous!”

“Just call him, tell him that you are willing to get tested daily. Sherlock and I already do it.”

“You? But you are a doctor, how can you accept that kind of privilege –“

“The day I finally accepted that I was in love with a Holmes, I accepted that sometimes I will have to bend a little.” He let the voluntarily used of  _ Holmes _ instead of  _ Sherlock _ sink in before adding with mirth in his eyes, “and guess what? I think it’s your turn.”

Looking at Sherlock who was still glued to the floor, magnifying glass in hand, he silently swore and marched in the direction of the nurse hoping that the test doesn’t require a foot long cotton swab!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poor Mycroft, unable to show affection in a normal way :-)
> 
> Prompt:
> 
> This story takes place in a bar or pub.   
> You must mention a scarf, use the word 'together', and include this line of dialogue: "Guess what?" 


	6. December 6th

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lestrade has a little discussion with Mycroft... and a dinner!

“Enough for tonight, go home everyone!” It was nearly 1 o’clock when Lestrade was finally able to close down the crime scene for the night.  _ Nothing we can do until we have the forensic report anyway. The owner came to assess if anything was missing, Sherlock and John left an hour ago…  _ He checked one last time that the broken window was now completely covered, looked around for anything strange then closed the door securing the yellow tape in place.  _ And now I’m going home! I’m knackered! _

The streets were empty but warmed by the number of fairy lights and decorations. The shimmering red and gold reminded him that in spite of everything, the Christmas spirit was still there. As if the Londoners were trying to push the current gloominess away.  _ Covid is good for electricity providers at least.  _ The jazzy Christmas music helped, his level of stress was slowly going down.  _ Nobody likes a dead body on Saturday night, but we are truly unable to do anything before we receive the analysis.  _ He chuckled at the idea that the cops that are going to survey the surroundings and knock on doors on Sunday are going to report to Donovan instead of him.  _ She wanted more responsibilities? Here you go. _

Thinking about the nurses who tested him a few hours ago, he sighed at the thought of confronting Mycroft.  _ Poor woman, she was so relieved to finally put her hands on me! I must talk to him about this, it won’t do! He can’t test a hundred people just because he wants ME tested! It is not fair for all the people who really need to be tested! Still don’t understand how John can accept that!  _ Thinking about what his friend told him, his mind mused away from his exasperation about the covid-test thing. “The day I finally accepted that I was in love with a Holmes, I accepted that sometimes I will have to bend a little and guess what? I think it is your turn.” He repeated out loud, his voice mocking what the doctor said. “MY TURN!”  _ I am sooo not in love with Mycroft. Curious, yes. Fascinated, yes… but in love? He’s sexy as Hell, of course I am attracted to him and I want to know him better! But right now, after this intrusion on my private life? At my job! Now? I am just angry! _

The traffic was nonexistent, so Greg was home in a record time. Once inside, he quickly jumped in the shower, wanting to remove the scents of the crime scene – a mix of blood and stale beer – away from his skin. Naked with the exception of a towel around his waist, he stood in front of his fridge, grunting at its lack of content.  _ I really need to go to the shops or learn how to do it online. This is becoming ridiculous.  _ He was about to sit in front of the telly with a beer and crackers when he heard his text alert sound. “Nooooooo, not now, what it is!” Opening his phone, his mouth dropped open.

> Someone is going to be there with a light dinner in a few minutes. Good night. MH

Greg was typing his reply (a big fat ‘What?’) when someone knocked at his door. Pulling on his robe quickly, the DI opened the door carefully. A man wearing chauffeur attire was standing there, an insulated bag in hand.

“Mister Lestrade? This is for you.”

The man left as soon as Greg put his hands on the bag, walking back to Mycroft’s sedan without another word.

_ Is it one of his chauffeurs?  _ Perplexed, he closed the door, then let the scents of whatever was in the bag overwhelm him.  _ This is weird… but it definitely smells divine!  _ He placed the bag on his countertop and punched at his phone angrily.

> What is that? You are feeding me now?
> 
> Just eat, Gregory, your day was long, and you shouldn’t go to bed hungry. MH

A small menu was attached to the bag.  _ Barley and vegetables soup, whole wheat bun, aquafaba chocolate mousse and an assortment of herbal tea _ .  _ Hmmm, sounds good! _ Emptying the bag on the counter, he smiled at the warm portion of the hearty soup and fresh bread.  _ A light meal, perfect before going to bed. _ The small pudding as well as three fancy tea bags from Whittard to choose from completed the small feast. _Lemon & Ginger, _ _ Apple & Elderflower or Liquorice Lemongrass, fancier than my usual camomile!  _ Without thinking further, he was too tired anyway, he opened the container and started to eat the delicious soup.

Half an hour later, everything was finished. Even the great but what-the-hell-is-that aquafaba mousse. He waited for his herbal tea to steep before taking up his phone once more, mollified by the nice meal and his general state of tiredness.

> Mycroft?

The reply was nearly instantaneous.

> Yes? Was the meal satisfactory? MH

Knowing that Mycroft wasn’t asleep, Greg pressed on his phone number, waiting for the call to get through.

“Gregory?” The other man's voice was surprised, a bit shy for once.

“Just want to say thanks for the meal, it was a great end to a really shitty day.”

“My pleasure, I knew… because of Sherlock of course, that the night has been long, so I thought… I thought that –“ They suddenly talked at the same time.

“You could order me something –“

“I could share my supper –“

“Oh,” Lestrade said, surprise, “it was coming from your home?”

“Of course,” Mycroft protested, offended, “I know how to put a soup together.”  _ And make bread, and chocolate mousse. _

“Sorry, it’s just that I thought that cooking was a bit… let’s say… under your pay grade?”

“I think it’s a great way to unwind after a long day and one must eat at some point if you want to keep your body running.”

Smiling, Greg drank his first sip of herbal tea, “I should probably tell you that you really sound like your brother now… you must feed the transport!”  _ I must get more of that Liquorice Lemongrass tea, it’s quite good. _

“Don’t say things like that, Gregory, or I will stop cooking.” Mycroft teased.

“No, no, I would love for you to cook me a real dinner sometime…”

The conversation stopped as a characteristic chime resonated through Mycroft’s phone, followed by two dongs.

“Really? Your clock sounds like Big Ben.” Lestrade chuckled, “how patriotic of you.”

“The Elizabeth Tower is closed till 2021, once must do what is possible to keep traditions alive.”

Unable to resist, Greg teased, “the bells are going to ring on New Year’s Eve, you must be thrilled.“ Laughing at the other man’s exasperated sigh, he asked without thinking, “what are you doing tomorrow?”

“It's officially Sunday now, Gregory.” Mycroft deflected, “are you talking about Sunday or Monday?”  _ He’s asking me out, again? It was kind of my turn, no? Is tonight considered a date? Is it a dinner date even if I wasn’t there? _

“Tomorrow as Sunday. The day is not over as long as I have not yet hit the bed!” The DI replied, cheekily, aware of if naked state. “I am going to sleep-in as late as possible, maybe we can go somewhere in the afternoon? 2 o’clock? There should be a place where we can go while respecting the rules and all?”

After a few seconds, Holmes replied, “yes, I think I know the perfect place. Go rest now, Gregory, I’ll pick you up tomorrow at 2 o’clock.”

“Perfect, good night Mycroft.”

Greg was in his bed, the fragrant herbal tea on his side table as he read a little before going to sleep when something hit him.  _ Shit! I was supposed to be angry! _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And now... am I going to be able to get on tract lol 
> 
> Prompt:  
> This story takes place late at night.  
> You must mention bells, use the word 'gold', and include this line of dialogue:  
> "I should probably tell you..."


	7. December 6th (daytime)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A nice Sunday (part 1)

Only a few hours later, Mycroft was already up and looking outside with disgust _. It’s not raining, it’s not snow, it’s just… sleet.  _ Frowning at the inconvenient weather, he wrapped himself in his velvet robe, relishing as usual the sensual heavy touch.  _ Never understood how it was possible for Sherlock to prefer silk. _ Walking down the stairs of his three story house, he switched on the light in the kitchen and got his coffee ready without paying attention, the motion engraved in his hands. Still thinking about what men that may or not be friends, that may or not be dating, can do on a pandemic afternoon.  _ Not a movie, we wouldn’t be able to talk. And opening a whole cinema while only so we can watch a movie isn’t something that Gregory would approve of.  _ Getting his toast and coffee, he sat at a small table near the conservatory window.

Reading his newspapers, the crunch of his fancy bread and the light buzzing of the appliances the only sounds in the quiet house, he tried to calm himself. The routine of his only immovable daily “me time” was not as beneficial as usual, his mind unable to rest.  _ Something that we can do inside, that isn’t too intimate or too fanciful _ .  _ Something that is going to cost next to nothing to the taxpayers. Maybe I can invite him here… Or is it too personal?  _ Bashful, he pushed the idea away as well.  _ A home, this is quite private. And if something goes wrong, at least my sanctuary is going to be… Gregory-free.  _ Knowing that anywhere that they are going to go they weren’t going to be in a teeming crown, Mycroft found himself nervous.  _ This is silly, I wasn’t nervous when we walked in the park! Was it because I worked so I didn’t have the time to think? Or is it because in my mind it was simply a 30 minute walk between acquaintances before Anthea turned it into a 3 hours stroll! _

He shook his head impatiently, trying to get back to his usual self. _ I scolded Kim Jong-un; I should be able to spend a few hours with a non dictatorial English man! _

He placed his dishes in the dishwasher and cleaned the countertop and his fancy espresso machine. His cleaning lady – vetted by the MI6 – came only once a week for a good cleaning and he does not like when things are uncleaned or untidy.  _ I don’t understand my colleagues with in-house staff, how can they deal with the constant intrusion?  _ Satisfied, he closed the light and walked up to his bedroom to change.

He was trying to find something a bit less formal in his selection of bespoke suits when his phone rang.

It was his PA. “Anthea?”

“Good morning sir, calling to confirm that DI Lestrade’s test, as well as yours, came back negative - ”

“Thank you, I won’t work today so you can –“

“Of course, you never know if something happened between the test and now, but as far as the NHS goes, you are free to do what-ever you want.”

“Don’t you have something to do right now? Filing or spying on someone? How is my brother faring this morning?”  _ If I do not stop her, she’s going to put mistletoe everywhere between here and Gregory’s place. _

“Nope, nothing to do. It’s Sunday you know... Like in ‘Sunday’s rest’? And your brother is perfectly safe at home brunching in bed with his  _ boyfriend _ .” The emphasis placed on ‘‘boyfriend’ was a bit too much but a woman on a mission must find every way possible to convey her message.  _ And all that pining has got to stop!  _ Unable to stop herself, she asked. “Are you seeing Mister Lestrade today?”

“Anthea…” Mycroft menaced, still looking in his walking closet with despair.

“I just took the liberty of ordering a few casual warmer suits from your tailor as well as a few coloured shirts and walking shoes. They promised me that everything was going to be ready and fitted as usual for this morning before 10.” She paused, waiting for protestation that she knew won't be coming, “I can cancel everything if you –“

“No, no, I am going to keep them!”  _ Thank God for the infuriatingly interfering assistant _ . “You never know when… when I’ll need to go to Canada in the middle of winter.”

Not acknowledging the blatant lie, the young woman smiled, “and your parents prefer it when you are more casual, you know, more approachable.”

“As if my parents are intimidated by me, really Anthea!”  _ The way Mommy constantly bickers at me to bring someone or to quit smoking, it’s me that should be terrified! _

“True, that your mother is quite a formidable woman herself, sir. Do you need anything else?”

He was about to say ‘no’ when he muttered, “maybe one thing. If someone wants to do something inside because of this awful weather… Do you have any suggestions? You know, as you said, Sunday’s rest.”

“Something impressive yet simple that is not just a flagrant flaunting of money?” Her voice was gentle, trying to softly pull her boss to open up a bit.

“Yes,” he self-confessed, “exactly.”

“I think I have the perfect thing! I am going to make a few phone calls, give me an hour.”

“You are as usual, perfect, Anthea.”

“Just doing my job, sir! Read and relax, for now, don’t forget the tailor is going to be there at 10 o’clock.”

“Thank you, I will wait for them.”

Greg was ready at 2 o’clock (actually, it was 1 o’clock, but who’s counting?). Rested, cleaned, close shaved and with his best weekend clothes. That he may or not have shopped for that evening after his walk with Mycroft. It was a secret between his credit card statement and him. He grinned a goofy smile at his reflection, liking how much younger he looked. _I smartened pretty well. Don’t understand how someone could look smarter in more casual clothes though, probably something about the fit._ His dark blue merino jumper perfectly complimented his silver hair, and, even with a light blue chambray shirt under, it was less formal than his usual white shirt and tie. _It looks well put together,_ _that lady at The Gap was really really helpful!_ Turning around in front of the mirror, he admired his silhouette in his form-fitted dark jeans, also a new acquisition. _I think that for a guy in his fifties, I’ve got quite a nice bum!_ Not wanting to destroy the look, he switched his wallet to his front pocket. _Even better._

He was changing from his usual shoes to his (also new) Clark walking boots when someone knocked at the door. Certain that it was the chauffeur, he opened the door without looking while getting his wool coat. (Yep, new as well. That saleswoman walked out with a hefty commission at the end of the night.), “yes, yes, coming!”

“Take all the time you need Gregory, what I have planned is not at all time-sensitive.”

“Oh!” Greg felt his cheeks inflame, “Sorry, I didn’t realise it was you.” Looking behind Mycroft, he laughed at the sight of the silver Bentley coupe. “You drove here? Really? For me?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt:  
> This story takes place at the weekend.  
> You must mention mistletoe, use the word 'crunch', and include this line of dialogue: "Really? For me?"


	8. December 6th – part 2 The date!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> But what are they going to do?

“Don’t act so surprised… I have had my driving licence since I turned 18. Being able to go where I wanted was a great joy of mine when I was younger.”

Admiring the car, he asked, “Where were you at that age?”  _ That’s a sweet ride. _

“Cambridge, having a car in the centre is near impossible, but I regularly rented one just to drive around, to go to London, to visit my parents... and get away from them!”

Greg chuckled, his eyes twinkled merrily above his mask, “Aren’t we all the same?”

Opening the door for the DI before walking around the car to get in the driver’s seat, Mycroft smiled. “Yes, I think we are all very similar.” He rolled his eyes as he started the car, “even if my family is a bit… peculiar.” Perfectly aware of Gregory’s family history, he asked nonetheless, “Are your parents still alive and well?”

Even if the secret civil servant probably knew everything about him, the older man played the game. “My dad died 10 years ago, cancer, mom is still there but she is… fragile. She lives in an extremely good private home in Walthamstow, my sister only a few minutes away.”

Mycroft drove in the direction of the A4, which was only a few blocks away from Lestrade’s Hammersmith flat, and turned to the left to go back toward the centre. “It’s only a 10-minute drive.”

“Where are we going? The day is not particularly nice for something outdoorsy but if…”

“No, don’t worry, we are going to be inside.” Honest, he explained, “I was wondering what to do, with so many things closed…” He sighed, “so I asked Anthea.”

“The woman is a pearl.” He waited a minute, looking as the A4 changed for Cromwell Road, “so, where are we going.”

“I hope you like museums,” Mycroft asked with a grin as he turned on Exhibition Road before stopping in front of the side entrance to the V&A.

Lestrade frowned, “Can we park here? I am sure that we are going to get many tickets…”

“Don’t worry we won’t stay here,” a few seconds later someone ran from the door to open the gate and let the car through. “Here we go, we won’t be disrespectful of the law.”

“But… museums are closed.”

“Yes, they are but workers are still coming to work, to take care of the security, the restoration, the building itself.”

“Okay, but we are not coming to clean, are we?” Greg deadpanned.

“No, come on!” Suddenly excited to show to Gregory his favourite museum, he stepped out of the car as a man strode toward them.

Not liking the beautiful and energetic forty-something ( _ bastard _ ) man onsight, the DI quickly stepped out to position himself right beside Mycroft.

“Holmes! How are you faring in this madness, surely you can do something? You are usually so good at solving all these little problems!”

“You have no idea how hard I tried Hunt!” Looking at Lestrade, he smiled, “Let me introduce you to a friend of mine, Gregory Lestrade. Gregory, this is Tristram Hunt. You may have heard of him, he played politics for a while but now he is the director of this establishment.”

“When Anthea contacted me to arrange a visit, I was thrilled! Maybe you can think about us next time you found a million quids roaming free.” He smiled at Greg and raised his shoulders, “Hey, we never know... I can’t stay, but the staff are aware of your presence, your car can stay in the courtyard without difficulties, here are your visitor cards and… that’s all!” Opening his arms as if to say, all this is yours, he nodded and left them alone.

“This is…” the detective stopped, looking for words.

Removing his mask now that they are outside of the confined space of the car, Mycroft carefully stows it in his pocket with satisfaction before using his posh lemon-scented sanitiser. “You can do the same you know, yesterday we were both negative, I am always extremely careful as I am sure you are… We are going to have plenty of space inside.”

Greg frowned, suddenly remembering something, “I am quite cross with that test bullshit!”

“Oh… so sorry about that.” Without giving a minute to Greg to think, he opened the door with a flourish. “Come in, great treasures await us!”

After the wonderful one on one visit, where they walked slowly for hours from room to room without seeing anybody except a few restorers, Mycroft asked, “Are you hungry? Do you want a coffee?” A hand pointed in the general direction of the V&A glorious restaurant.

“They opened the restaurant for you? This is a bit much, don’t you think…” Wandering in the museum without disturbing the staff was one thing, but opening the restaurant was a bit much!

“No, no, not the whole cafeteria, only the coffee shop and in fact it’s not their doing. I really tried not to be a nuisance.” Entering the magnificent room, he walked to a table on the side. “Do you prefer a banquet or a chair?” A banquet was covering the back wall of the elegant room, fit for a ball instead of a public room in a museum.

Looking with a smile at the empty room, one of his favourite cafeterias in the whole London aera, Greg chuckled, “I think we can both sit in the banquet if we want!”

Nodding, Mycroft approved the suggestion and sat on the banquet waiting for Greg to do the same.

“But don’t we need to take our food first?” The café, even with its posh setting, worked as a refectory where you must take your food on a tray before finding your place. 

“No, as they are not really open, I simply asked Anthea to bring an assortment from a nearby  _ traiteur _ .”

“That woman, she’s someone to reckon with! I wish I had someone like her on my team!”

“I think that Sally Donovan is quite opinionated also,” Holmes jested loudly, knowing that Anthea was coming near them.

“Opinionated women are the best women, Mr Holmes, Mr Lestrade.” Smiling at the (adorable) men, she described the little feast that was readily available. “I have leek and potato soup, lentil shepherd pies or  _ beef braisé _ and, for dessert, mince pies, orange sherbet or apple streusel. Or two of them, of course, who am I to say no.”

“All this is really tempting, and I am quite hungry! So, I am going to go with the soup and the shepherd pies and mince pies with orange sherbet!”

“The shepherd pies and  _ apple streusel _ for me, my dear, thank you.”

Anthea turned back with a little smirk, before walking in the direction of the hot plate where the food was waiting.

“Did I miss something?” Greg asked with a smile, happy whenever he saw the friendly relationship between the PA and her boss.  _ It is so good to know that he is not all alone. _

“The little menace knows that I hate Christmas and totally abhor mince pies!”

“How is it possible to hate Christmas?”

“When you are a Holmes…” the younger man sighed theatrically without being able to hide his sadness, “Christmas is a battlefield.” As Gregory’s worries became apparent, Mycroft changed the subject and started to talk about the wonderful room where they were sitting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not a lot of substance for now, I know :-)  
> \----  
> Prompt:  
> This story takes place in a coffee shop.  
> You must mention mince pies, use the word 'orange', and include this line of dialogue:  
> "I hate Christmas."


	9. December 6 – part 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The date… part 2!

“It was so good,” Greg smiled as Anthea served tea, “compliments to the chef!”

Shaking her head, the PA protested at the idea, “you know that I only choose from a menu…”

“But you are so good at everything my dear,” Mycroft flattered, “especially  _ deciding _ for me.”

Chuckling at the little jab, she placed the teapot on the table as well as a small box of gingerbread with intricate icing. “If you don’t want to cause trouble sir, they are closing the place in 45 minutes.”

“Perfect, thank you, we will go after our tea. Offer the remaining food, would you?”

“I will, as well as complimentary gingerbread. Do you need anything else?”

“No, this is all, thank you again for today. It was a brilliant idea.”

“Yes, Anthea,” Gregory nodded in appreciation while looking at the cookies, “it was a marvelous day.”

She smiled at them and turned on her heels.

“Did I hear her muttering ‘the day is not over yet’?” The DI asked, unable to hide his admiration. “This is nice of you to offer the food to the museum’s workers instead of simply stocking your fridge with lunch.”

“Oh, I do not eat beef so it’s not really a sacrifice and, as you know, I am not a fan of mince pies!”

Curious to know more about the man, Greg asked, “are you a vegetarian?”

Just to avoid any discussion later on, Mycroft specified, “vegan, in fact,” and quickly dismissed the subject as if it wasn’t important. “That tea is really good; I don’t know what brand it is? It’s not my usual.”

“But… why?”

“Probably because the traiteur didn’t carry my usual Fortnum & Mason.”

“No, I mean… vegan? You?”  _ How is it possible that I don’t know that? I’ve known the man for ages! _

“Oh, simply because I can, isn’t a reason good enough?”

“Okay, yes,” Gregory was furiously trying to invent a vegan menu in his mind, thinking about the great meal the other man cooked for him the night before, when something popped in his mind. “I’ve got one question then.”

Rolling his eyes, this is why he avoids that discussion usually, Mycroft asked patiently, “what do you want to know?”

“Just what the Hell is aquafaba? That chocolate mousse was perfect! Go ahead, explain, I won’t get queasy!”

Half an hour later, they walked out of the V&A, still mesmerised by the nearly empty museum. “It’s a first for me, I’ve been here many times of course… Sometimes for private events, but having the place for myself, never!”

“It was really special, I am going to remember this for a long time…” Greg became silent, thinking about how good Mycroft looks when he speaks about something that he is passionate about.  _ People who call him cold have never seen him talk about sculptures or mosaics. But I did! And it was a privilege. _

“Gregory?” Mycroft called softly as they arrived at the car.

“Oh, sorry, I was a bit lost in my thoughts…” He looked around the courtyard, “it’s the place!”

Opening the door for his date ( _ date? OMG! _ ), Holmes smiles knowingly.  _ Yes, it is…  _ Once both inside the cabin, he repeated for Gregory’s benefit. “Yes, it is a rather wonderful place.”

Turning on the right without his safety belt on, the policeman murmured as the automatic light inside the car dimed slowly. “We’ve been together for hours you know… no masks...”

Without turning the engine on, Mycroft positioned himself in the same angle as Gregory. “Yes, you are right. And now inside a car… and we are both really,” he swallowed with difficulty, “really…”

“Close.” Greg completed, leaning a bit further in the other man direction. “This is totally irresponsible of us.” He extended a hand to hold Mycroft’s manicured fingers. “So soft, don’t know how you do it with all that constant scrubbing.” A small smirk, barely visible in the darkness, appeared. “Oh no, and now I touched you. Let's say that precautions are now useless, don’t you think?”  _ And that test was not completely a bad thing!  _ His hand delicately touched the soft and warm wool of Mycroft’s coat. “Have I told you that you were really beautiful today? You are always so perfect but today you looked more approachable, more open…”

“You know all this – dating, personal stuff, life – is not my usual  _ forte _ .” Mycroft protested in vain, knowing that he had already lost, “You are special, Gregory Lestrade. I don't give in easily." 

With a chuckle, the older man stroked the smooth cheek of the man of his dreams, “10 years in the making is not giving in easily darling…” 

And he kissed him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt:
> 
> This story takes place in the car. (Okay, only a small part, but it’s a kiss!!)
> 
> You must mention gingerbread, use the word 'queasy', and include this line of dialogue:
> 
> "I don't give in easily."


	10. December 9th

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Greg goes ice skating.

“God, it’s freezing… we should be at Baker Street in front of the fire, not outside listening to awful Christmas music!” John tried to warm his hands by sneaking them under his boyfriend’s coat.

“My version of Jingle Bells is far superior indeed.” Sherlock acknowledged as he tried to turn off the sound from the cheap speaker by the pure will of his mind while escaping John’s cold fingers.

Looking gloomily at the ice rink, Greg muttered, “I don’t understand.”

“Really?” The doctor scoffed, trying to keep his laughter in check as he finally wrapped his hand around Sherlock’s. _This is kind of obvious._

“Of course, you don’t,” Sherlock sneered before sliding away gracefully on the ice.

“Hmmmm?” Looking at the crime scene in front of him where a body was covered with a thin layer of ice as a man sobbed nearby still holding a hose, Greg shrugged. “Oh, no, not this, it's clearly an accident. I called you because I knew Sherlock was going to be intrigued by the body encapsulated in an ice cap. I was not thinking about this…”

“What then?” As his friend remained silent, he guessed, “is this about Mycroft?”

“Yes,” the DI admitted reluctantly. “We went out Sunday… the most wonderful date ever.” As John looked doubtful, he repeated, “EVER!”

“That good?”

“Yes, everything was perfect. We wandered around the V&A for hours with only a few employees present. It was like walking in a secret vault…” He smiled, thinking how knowledgeable about arts and history Mycroft is and how humble he was when they had to Google stuff about an event or an art technique. “We talked a lot, and not only about what was in the museum, I learned about him. We ate in that beautiful and romantic cafeteria; you know the place?”

“That really is a grand room, elegant and yes, romantic.” John sighed, longing to go out with Sherlock. _One day that damn pandemic is going to be over._

“And we… we kissed. In the car. After the museum. Outside. The car was outside.”

“I seriously hope the car was outside,” the doctor said, straight-faced.

“Don’t think because you have a mask on that I don’t know you are laughing at me right now, John Watson.”

“No, no, sorry… So, the kiss, it was good? Angels singing and everything?”

“Yes, perfect.” Greg sighed, still unable to find what went wrong. “After that first kiss, Mycroft had to move the car out of the courtyard because they needed to lock the gate. He drove to my place and we remained in the car and talked for hours… Around 10, he escorted me to my door, softly kissed me one last time and left after wishing me a good night.” Shrugging his shoulders, he muttered sadly, “and since then nothing.”

“Oh my God, really?”

“This is weird, don’t you think? Everything went so well and –“

“Mycroft drove the car himself?”

Greg rolled his eyes. “Yes, he’s an intelligent man. He knows how to drive a car.”

“I don’t doubt that he’s able to, but if he’s like that lazy man over here…” He pointed at Sherlock who was still elegantly gliding around the corpse delighted by the strange death, “he prefers to be driven around.”

“He’s able to work at the same time, which is a good reason, no?”

“Maybe, but Mycroft behind a wheel, that is just fucking weird.”

“Anyway, that is not the problem…”

“What is, then?”

“It’s been three days and nothing, not a word, not a text, not a phone call…” Greg moaned. “I blew it but I don’t know how!”

Looking at Sherlock, who was now interrogating the crying technician, John tried to find the words. “Holmes are… special. If he’s in the middle of something important, maybe he didn’t realize that three days have passed, you know? He’s going to call you as if nothing happened and wonder why you are angry.”

“You think?”

The lanky detective interrupted their discussion, “it’s clearly not him, the woman was filming a Zic Toc video on the ice rink in the dark – it’s going to be popular, too bad she won’t be able to enjoy the fame – when the technician started the water. The pressure was strong… she was hit by the water, fell and couldn’t get up. Her clothes adhered to the rink as the water turned to ice. Really sad and stupid, but not a crime.” He was enjoying John’s admiring eyes when he finally realized that something was amiss. “Greg, are you all right?”

Proud as usual that the detective called the DI “Greg”, John murmured, “It's TikTok... And your brother, the git, hasn’t contacted him in three days!”

“It’s normal Greg, as I told you Monday, he’s in China and won’t be able to contact you for a few days. He’s supposed to be back on Friday.”

“I didn’t know!”

“Oh?” Sherlock stopped, nonplussed, “maybe you weren’t in the room.” He waved his hand dismissively, “sometimes it’s hard to know who’s around. All right, John, are you ready? We’re going home, it’s freezing!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A smaller one!
> 
> Prompt:  
> This story takes place at an ice rink.  
> You must mention bells, use the word 'fire', and include this line of dialogue: "Are you ready?"


	11. December 9th

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shower & karaoke

Greg rushed out of the shower and swiped to answer his phone, a bit out of breath, “Lestrade!”

“Oh, so sorry Gregory, were you occupied? I should have text before -”

“Mycroft, no, no…” His ragged voice suddenly turned soft, “no, no, I wasn’t. It’s 6:30, I arrived from work a few minutes ago and I was getting ready to go to Baker Street later tonight. Nothing serious or work-related.”  _ Nothing that I can’t joyfully stop for you. _ Someone near the seasoned traveller shouted in Cantonese. “Are you okay? It sounds like you’ve got a lot of activities around you. And what time is it in China?”

“Yes, I am okay. I am in Hong Kong, it is 2:30 in the morning…” the younger man sighed, disgruntled and tired. “We just closed our deal, and everyone was a bit excited and wanted to celebrate.”

“Everyone?” Greg teased knowing almost certainly that going out with strangers and politicians is probably not a favourite past time of the man, networking be damned. “Where are you?”

“We are in a karaoke bar… can you imagine. Me, in a karaoke bar, babysitting ministers and diplomats. Don’t tell Sherlock, promise me?”

“Aren’t they all closed?” The DI chided, worrying for the other man's health as he tried to dry himself without putting down the phone. “Honk Kong has been hit hard, hasn’t it?”

“Not closed for everybody it seems. I am careful, don’t worry. They put Plexiglas to separate the singers, around the bar also… and the room reeks of disinfectant.”

“If you sing, I want a video!”

“Don’t get your hopes up, Gregory, it won’t happen.” The sound of ice cubes moving around in a tumbler echoed in Greg’s phone, “I am at the back having a drink and trying to get away from the singing part of the evening. They are singing American Christmas songs, it’s horrible.” He remained silent a moment as more noises and excited little screams resonated in the close space, “Oh God -”

“What?”

“The Minister of Commerce is going to sing Mariah Carey’s song… you know that horribly catchy one.”

Greg laughed, “Our minister or theirs?” and nearly dropped his phone as he pulled on his tangled boxers.

“What are you doing? Are you alright Gregory?”

“Yes, I was just putting my pants on and –“

“Oh... you were… you were…”  _ He was talking to me naked. Gregory naked. Mycroft Holmes, just breathe and calm yourself!  _

They remained silent as a Chinese diplomat sang  _ And I don't care about the presents underneath the Christmas tree _ in broken English.

“Mycroft, are you there?”

“Yes, sorry, I was… somewhat distracted.”

“I should ask you what you are wearing…” Greg chucked, “but I am going to spare you the blushing in public.”

“Thank you, most considerate.” The poor man continued to sing off-key in the background.  _ I don't need to hang my stocking _ _ there upon the fireplace. _

“You know,” Greg finally said, “that song has been redone by too many, and it’s been played too many bloody times on the radio but it’s simple and true.”

“What are you saying, Gregory?” Mycroft’s soft voice went directly into Greg’s soul, the sound surrounding the man faded away as if they were alone.

“That for Christmas, I just want you for my own… more than you could ever know.”

“I don’t know what to say, what to reply. I have never thought that –“

“It’s okay, you are calling the shots. Sorry… I shouldn’t have dropped this on you like that, not when you are thousands of kilometres away.”

“Twelve.”

“What?”

“12,268 kilometres, give or take, between London and Hong Kong.”

“That’s… precise.”

_ And I am hating each and every one of them right now.  _ “Listen… I am going to be back in London Friday night… horribly jet-lagged but… do you want to spend Saturday with me?”

Finally able to let go of the breath he was holding without even realizing it, Lestrade muttered, “yes, twelve thousand and what-ever times yes.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Smallish, I know! Trying to catch-up!
> 
> Prompt:
> 
> This story takes place in a foreign country.  
> You must mention a Christmas tree, use the word 'tangle', and include this line of dialogue: "Listen..."


	12. December 10th

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Scotch & kung-fu

Mycroft was allowing himself a bit of a sleep-in because of last night's celebration when his phone beeped. He frowned at the idea of already having to deal with people so early in the morning. It was only a text from Anthea.

> Sorry Sir, but he was so cute.

_ What? Have I missed something?  _ He opened his email to check if something came up, but it was only his regular boring emails, nothing strange.  _ Or cute _ .

> I was about to get up, it is still a bit early for enigma. MH

He was waiting for a reply when the icon announcing a phone call appeared on the screen. 

“Anthea? What are you talking about? Sorry about what? And who’s  _ cute _ ?”

“Cute?” The clearly inebriated and worried voice of Greg Lestrade asked. “You think someone is… cute? But… but… you CAN’T!”

“Gregory, is that you? Are you alright? And how did you get this phone number?”

“I… I am a d’ective.” He protested with vigor, “not goodder than Sh’lock and a little drunk – just a little – but I am a d’ective –“

Stiffening his chuckle, Mycroft comforted the poor man, “You are an excellent detective, Gregory. You are back from your little visit at Baker Street I presume?”

“You’re soooo a genius. We talk’d ‘bout you… John was a stiffer for that distance thing, Sh’lock was a prat but the scotch was really  _ really _ good… and the little snow was romantic… and I missed you. So I want’d to talk. To you.” He frowned, trying to remember something that bothered him. “The singing men, a room full of… Where are they? And… and who’s cute?”

“It's not what you think, silly man. They are at home with their wife or mistress or boyfriend, or no one I don’t care.” He smiled as the sun rose over the breathtaking view of the harbour, “and besides only one other individual in my life, you are the only cute person I know.” Before Greg was able to profess his indignation, Holmes explained. “I am talking of Miss Rosamund Watson, of course.”

Satisfied of the explanation, Greg cooed at the thought of the little girl. “True, she’s a cutie pie little angel isn’t she?”

“Not sure that her parents would call her an angel, but you are right. So, how did you find this number, my  _ cute _ detective?”

“Yes, ‘am! First, I pressed the button to call back because, y’know, YOU called me.”

“True,” Mycroft replied patiently, “but you can’t call back to this number.”

“No, it was just a bleeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeh. No one there. Secrets, always, t’s’annoying.”

Falling back in his bed contentedly while still admiring the view, Mycroft asked, “so what did you do, you brilliant man?”

“I called Antia!”

He was so proud of himself that Mycroft chuckled, “you asked Sherlock for her number?”

“Nooooooo! NEVER! She appeared! She’s a magician.” A loud bang resonated. “Ouch… I fell, fall, felt.” He paused a second, “En’ligsh is funny.”

“Are you okay, Gregory,” the government man inquired, a bit worried. “Where are you right now?”

“M’mine place, tried to sit on my bed but t’was slip’ry.”

“The  _ bed _ was  _ slippery _ ?”

“Are your bed slip’ry too?” Greg asked in awes.

“No, my bed is totally normal.”

“And you are innit…”, the pasty yet tentatively sultry tone was comical in his ineffectiveness. “Are you with clothes on you?”

Laughing, Mycroft chastised playfully, “are you asking me if I am sleeping naked? Of course not, I am presently representing the country.”

“I am tr’ing to remove m’ shirt but the buttons ‘re broken. Too big for the holes. Weird. It’s slow to get n'ked, s’not sexy.”

“Oh, poor thing, I wish I was there to help you.”

“Should ‘ve asked Anathema help,” Greg sighed, face in his pillow.

“Gregory?” He waited a bit and called again, “Gregory dear are you there?” but the only sound now was a light snoring.  _ At least he’s safe in bed. _ He put his phone on speaker and started to prepare for his day while listening to the intimate sounds of someone sleeping. A few unintelligible muttering the only interruption.

He ended the call and was ready to go when a text arrived.

> Sherlock texted me to bring Mister Lestrade home. He went on over and over that he couldn’t reach you sir. 
> 
> Something about protecting you from kung-fu Christmas singers. 
> 
> Poor thing. I had no choice except to pass him through to the diplomatic line. 

Unable to really care about the breach in security, Mycroft smiled on the way to the lift.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poor Greg he's going to have a headache :-)
> 
> Prompt:
> 
> This story takes place in a hotel.  
> You must mention snow, use the word 'slow', and include this line of dialogue: "It's not what you think."


	13. December 11th

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Finally Friday!

“That’s all I have,” Lestrade ended his weekly presentation about active cases, “nothing that can’t wait until Monday morning.” He thought over the Zoom presentations and was silently proud that he was able to do so without a doubt.  _ We are becoming really good at all this virtual stuff! _

“Eager for the week-end boss,” a senior officer called, “something special planned?”

_ I seriously hope so. _ “Nothing special. Nothing except… relaxing. Alone, of course. Confinement and everything, rules are rules.” His last mumbled words lost to the general laughter.

“Oh! Look!” Donovan teased, “you are turning a nice shade of pink or my monitor is doing weird things again.”

“If so, mine’s doing funny things also, the boss is all… blotchy.”

“Ah, bloody hell, Ah Ah. You are all so funny, mates. Don’t forget who can still schedule your poor arses for Christmas and New Year Eve.” The DI’s warning was lost as questions bounced from everyone. 

“Really boss, who is she?”

“About time, really!”

“What’s her name?”

Riled up by the assumption that it can only be a woman – though, truth be told he never talked openly about his bi-sexuality - he promptly called the end of the meeting. “Enough, talk to you Monday if nothing turns up this weekend.”

The detective in charge of maintaining some sort of social club despite everything shouted quickly as the different windows closed, “Don’t forget to buy your ugly Christmas sweater for our virtual party, guys!”

Greg closed his eyes a second as he turned off his desk lamp.  _ Finally, the day is over. I’m going to be able to get over my hangover.  _ Thinking back to how bad it was when he woke up, he sighed.  _ I am not a young man anymore… But it could have been worse.  _ When his phone alarm started to play The Smiths at 6:30, he was feeling horrible, his head literally split in two! After a good shower, it wasn’t so bad. Then, a miracle happened, announced by a light knock at his door. It was Anthea, with dark coffee, muffins, vitamins and paracetamol. She left as swiftly as she came without saying a word except “A little something to start your day DI Lestrade. Covid test still negative. Mister Holmes ETA still 23:17 but don’t forget the jet lag factor. Good day.”.

_ Yes _ , he thought for the umpteenth times in the last week,  _ I really need to get myself a PA. _

__

Finally at home, Greg wasn’t able to rest. He started by doing a good clean-up of his flat. _It was long overdue._ He ran to the nearest Waitrose to get something fancy. _You never know._ Washed his bedding. _A man can hope!_ And as he wasn’t feeling pristine because of all this running and sprucing, he finally took a good and long shower. _Because, well, you know._

And then he waited.

Greg was dreaming, it was sweet and warm. A soft touch on his cheek, the lemony perfume of a now well-known overpriced aftershave, the velvety sound of a loved voice calling his name tenderly. _Mycroft…_ _The things I want to do to you…_ He dreamed about it so often that he looked tangible. Attainable. Real.

He usually starts by peppering his closed eyes, his nose, his cheeks, his lips. Lightly, teasing the serious man until he loses control under his light ministrations until his lips murmured ‘ _more_ ’. Slowly pushing him back until he rests on the bed or the sofa or the rug, Greg imagines the thrill of removing a silk tie… of opening one, two and three buttons before kissing the pale skin flushed with arousal. Sliding his hands under his fine wool suit, on the shoulders on which the destiny of the whole country often rests, until he helps him out of the layer. Rucking his shirt out of his trousers to give access to his long torso. _Oh my God, Mycroft…_ In his mind, the man was calling his name devoutly, languorously. _Gregory…_ _Gregory…_

“Gregory, wake up darling…”

Turning his head in the direction of the loving hand that was caressing his hair, Greg muttered, “hmmmmm…” before opening his eyes in panic. “MYCROFT!”

“Hello, sleepyhead, have you slept all night long on your sofa?”

Now totally awake, Greg swiped his mouth hoping he did not drool all over the cushions. “What time is it?”

“A bit after 9. In the morning.”

“How did you – “ Greg stopped his question as he realized how stupid it was. “You’ve got a set of keys, of course.”

“No, don’t be ridiculous! It would be… presumptuous. Let's say that my chauffeur has… practical abilities?”

Greg snorted inelegantly, “I need to go to the bathroom. Give me a sec’.” Pushing Mycroft (who looked unfairly alert) on the cushion as he did so many times in his dreams, the detective pressed a light kiss on his forehead and murmured. “Don’t even think about moving.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt:
> 
> This story takes place after work on a Friday.
> 
> You must mention a Christmas sweater,
> 
> use the word 'time',
> 
> and include this line of dialogue: "Oh! Look!"


	14. December 12th

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jet lagged cuddle.

After a visit to the loo, a thorough cleaning of his teeth and a quick shave, Greg walked into his bedroom to change.  _ I am not looking at the bed! I am not looking at the bed! I am not – fuck! I looked at the bed!  _ He jumped into fresh pants, his favourite pair of jeans, one of his nice new sweaters and black on black Converses before going back to the living room.  A room sadly empty of a tall red-hair gentleman of his liking.  _ Shit. I took less than 10 minutes and he left already! Unbelievable, he’s the one who committed forced entry into my flat!  _ Feeling like an idiot, he pressed his face into his hands and growled. That’s when he smelled it. The sweet and welcome aroma of fresh coffee. Lifting his head toward the ceiling in exasperation at his own idiocy, he chided himself.  _ A bit more confidence, man, you know he likes you. He wouldn’t have left like this. He’s not Sherlock, he’s polite.  _ He inhaled and exhaled slowly to calm down.

“Gregory?” Mycroft called from the kitchen, “I’ve made coffee. Are you hungry?”

Pleased and slightly fuzzy at the man’s caring tone, the detective walked into his kitchen to the most beautiful vision. His coat carefully draped on the back of a chair, his sleeves rolled up to the elbow, Mycroft was using Greg’s French press like he knew what he was doing. At ease in the microscopic kitchen probably 10 times smaller than his own.

“Sorry, I was suddenly ravenous and I thought that you may want at least a coffee so –“

The talented cook's superfluous excuses were cut short by Greg’s kiss. “Mmmmmmm, good morning, coffee smells amazing.”

Mycroft chuckled shyly as he went back to meticulously cutting apples and pears in small cubes. “I was afraid that I was a bit… presumptuous to invade your kitchen like that.”

Shaking his head Greg smiled. “No, on the contrary… seeing you like that, in my small kitchen, looks natural.” He poured two coffees, one black for Mycroft and one with sugar and cream for himself. “What are you doing?” He picked up a perfect cube of pear to admire the craftsmanship. “Neat. I am nowhere near that level of talent. This is a bit small for a fruit salad, what are you doing?”

“I thought that if you were amenable, I would love to do some  _ crêpes _ with a  _ tombée de fruits flambés _ .”

“I know what a  _ crêpe  _ is, and I can imagine that you are going to put the fruits on top in a fancy way, so it sounds yummy.”

“I let you know that this recipe is not  _ yummy  _ but classily scrumptious!” Mycroft deadpanned, still seriously cutting the fruits.

“So Mary Berry of you…” Standing behind him after he put down the mugs, Greg laid his head on the slightly taller man’s shoulder as he pressed his body against him, taking care to not corner Mycroft in any way. “You know what is scrumptious?” He asked with a husky laugh.

“No…” Mycroft swallowed before murmuring, “why don’t you tell me?” The currently not-so-stoic man felt a large smile in the crook of his neck then a series of small kisses as Greg’s hands snuggled between them to grab his bottom cheeks. And dropped the kitchen knife on the countertop. “Ooooh… Blimey!”

Chuckling at the reaction, Greg reluctantly stopped fondling the lovely  _ derrière,  _ moved back and sat on a nearby stool before asking innocently, “can I help with something?”

Holding his knife defensively, Mycroft laughed, “yes, you can help most if you STAY AWAY!”

“Will you marry me?”

Taking the expression for what it was, an acknowledgement of his cooking abilities, the government man smirked proudly. “It was that good?”

Still eating the remaining orange liqueur flambéed fruits by the spoonful, the perfectly thin  _ crèpes _ now things of the past, he muttered, “yes, really.” Without realizing what he was saying, he added, “thank God I went to the grocery store yesterday to get things.”

“Oh, you usually don’t keep oat milk and vegan butter in your fridge?” Mycroft deadpanned as he raised an interrogative eyebrow, “did you imagine having me here?”

_ I am constantly imagining ‘having’ you everywhere. _ Keeping his desire down and hoping that he didn’t overstep, he replied, “I was hoping… I… you know…”

“It was a nice gesture, Gregory, and cooking for you was a great pleasure.”

Getting up, the DI took the dishes and silverware. “I am doing the dishes; will you do another Bodum? Think I need more coffee!”

“Of course.”

They worked quietly and comfortably side by side, straightening up the kitchen and making coffee but soon, despite his best attempts to cover his exhaustion, Mycroft yawned and stretched his arms.

“Coffee won’t be enough, My’, you need to sleep.”

“I confess that the jetlag is currently returning with a vengeance.”

The admission, coming from a man with a reputation for never showing any weakness, warmed the experienced cop. “Stay at my place,” he pressed a kiss on Mycroft’s temple. The gesture as natural as if he had done it a thousand times, “come here…”. Holding the elegant hand in his, he led the exhausted man to his bedroom. Slowly, letting all the time in the world for a protest that never came, he removed the posh shoes, his own trainers and pulled back the blankets. It was not the idea he had in mind when he thought about having the man of his dreams in bed, but the poor man was worn-out. He sat on the bed, then moved until he was resting with his back on the quilted headboard, he positioned Mycroft comfortably beside him, his head automatically falling upon his thigh. 

Smiling as a light snore soon resonated in the room, Greg extended a hand to his bedside table and started reading the last John Le Carré. _Cuddling in the daytime with Mycroft Holmes, who would have thought?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt:
> 
> This story takes place at the weekend. 
> 
> You must mention blankets, use the word 'laugh', and include this line of dialogue: "Come here."


	15. December 13rd

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A sweet afternoon

When Mycroft finally emerged, only a dim light came from the closed curtains. Using the shadow to estimate the time at 4:15, more or less 5 minutes, he turned slowly to look at Lestrade. His eyes closed, a forgotten paperback at his side, soft and peaceful as if he was minutes away from falling asleep. Pondering a second between waking up the man for good or letting him rest, his heart skipped a beat when Gregory’s lips stretched in a smile.

“I know you are awake, Mr Holmes, don’t even try. I shouldn’t sleep, or I won’t be able to go to bed tonight.” As Mycroft turned to get out of bed, Greg swiftly embraced him from behind, his hands firmly on his waist. “Where are you going?”

“You said –“

Playfully pushing Mycroft on the bed, Greg giggled, “I said that I shouldn’t sleep… not that we should leave the bed.” He inhaled deeply, rested and excited in equal parts. “If you are agreeable, of course…”

“Like this, in the middle of the afternoon, no candles or cheesy background music…” Mycroft deflected as he tried to calm his pounding heart.

“Next time I will let you choose the setting –“

Not letting him finish his sentence, Mycroft eagerly pulled the man on top of him and silenced a whimper at the delightful weight that was pushing him into the mattress. “Hey… kiss me.” Stunned but utterly pleased by the outcome of his candid proposition, Greg heatedly complied and kissed the exposed skin, whispering an endless chain of endearments while trying to divest himself of his clothing without great success.

Groaning, Mycroft endeavoured to do the same even if his movements were restrained by being pinned down by Greg. “This… this doesn’t work. We need – “ he huffed as the detective’s pointless effort to remove his trousers innocently rocked their erections one against the other. “Good Lord. Gregory –“ He moaned and pushed on the other man's shoulders and moved off the bed, panting, “give me a second to get out of my clothes if I want to be able to go back to my place in a somewhat clean fashion.”  _ Being wrinkled because I slept in my clothes is one thing, going back home with… with ejaculate everywhere won’t do! _ He panicked a little at the idea of stumbling on Anthea, or worse, Sherlock, on his way home! Turning away from his lover, he removed his socks first, then started to work on his shirt buttons, grateful that the cuffs were already unbuttoned.

Rolling on his back without letting him out of his sight, Greg languidly worked on taking off his light sweater before unzipping his close-fitting jean carefully.  _ Arggg… slowly, don’t want an accident! Especially not NOW!  _ The display of freckled skin in front of him as Mycroft slowly removed his shirt was creating havoc on his capacity of controlling himself!  _ And it’s just his back, I am so fucked!  _ His voice laced with desire, he murmured, “You are magnificent. The things I would do to you if you allow me…”

“Don’t jest…” Suddenly hesitant, Mycroft turned to face Greg, “I know that I am… deficient.”

“Deficient!” The detective promptly sat at the edge of the bed and grabbed both of his hands. “Deficient,” he repeated, shaking his head as if to understand how such a word can be adjoined to the man in face of him. “Listen to me carefully… I don’t know why you think that you aren’t beautiful when you are one of the sexiest men I’ve ever seen.”

Huffing, Mycroft tried to walk away, ashamed of standing there semi-naked and feeling ridiculous in comparison to Greg's well-defined torso.  _ Even his light grey body hair is sexy! When I am… nothing. _

“No, no, stay with me, darling… It’s true that when you are all suited-up in your bespoke armour you are fierce, the quiet dominance that transcends each one of your moves, each one of your words, is sexy as Hell. Since day one, that first meeting at Battersea,” he chuckled at the memory, “I’ve been enthralled by your presence.” Mycroft opened his mouth to protest but Greg gently pressed a finger on his lips. “Now,” he moved cautiously toward the troubled man without touching him, afraid of his reaction, “now it is… more. More than I ever hoped.” He engulfed one of Mycroft’s hands in his and gently pulled the man towards him. “More of intimacy, more of openness, more you… more us.” Waiting for their lips to be aligned, he finally kissed him once more until the powerful man’s worries flew away. Silently, he opened Mycroft’s trousers and slowly slid them from his long legs then muttered, “Bloody Hell, these legs are going to be the death of me…” Under the man's timid approving smile, he folded the trousers carefully and got back into the bed. “Nothing is going to happen that you don’t want but know that you are a vision that I will never forget.” He sighed, the craving killing him, before he said seriously, “The most important for me is that we are friends.”

His doubts were still present but temporarily tamed by Greg’s words, Mycroft asked with a twinkle in his eyes as he extended his hand in an invitation to join him in the bed, “Friends, are we friends now, Detective Lestrade?”

“Of course, Mr Holmes,” Greg replied with a sweet smile as he finally touched the object of his desire, “the dearest.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt:  
> This story takes place in bed (got that one right lol)  
> You must mention candles, use the word 'friend', and include this line of dialogue: "Hey... kiss me."


	16. December 16th

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hot-chocolate and awkward conversations

“Close’ daddy, close’!” Rosie was on her father’s shoulders holding a gigantic star frosted in gold. Extending her arm as far as she was able, she was trying to put it on the 2 meters high Christmas tree. “Uncle Greg! Look! Look!”

Greg’s smile was lost under his mask when a voice muttered right beside him. “ _ Uncle, _ indeed.” He was about to protest against the (truthful) insinuation when Rosie saw that Sherlock was finally back home.

“Papa! I am a giant!” She wiggled energetically revelling in the fact that for one she was the tallest in the room. “Daddy, the star!” She tried again without success, missing the higher branch by a mere few centimetres.

“Your father is a bit too short for such an exercise Watson, you should have waited for me.” The love was obvious despite the teasing. The taller man softly kissed John’s lips before moving the buoyant child on his own shoulders. The big ornament was quickly in its rightful place and Rosie, now that the last decoration was done, reminded her father about the hot chocolate that he swore to give her if she acted like a big girl.

Putting her down, John momentarily resisted his daughter’s pull toward the kitchen and asked, “Greg, do you want hot chocolate too?”

“Why not, with a bit of whisky in it if you have some, I am off duty!”

“Perfect! Yes, yes, little tyrant I am coming!”

“John!” Sherlock protested, “you didn’t –“

“I didn’t ask because I know that you want some love, with ginger and cinnamon.”

“Oh, thanks.”

The DI sat on the sofa, keeping his distance, and looked at his friend. “How are you doing? You are really happy, aren’t you?”

“Yes, of course.” He frowned, listening to the excited voice of Rosie and John’s more measured tone.  _ This is the epitome of happiness! Of course, I am happy!  _ “Why are you asking?”

“Nothing, just… a mate to mate conversation.” He knew he sounded ridiculous.  _ As if someone as a ‘mate to mate’ talk with Sherlock ‘I know everything just by looking at your shoes’ Holmes! _

“Okay.”  _ I should make an effort if he is to be my brother-in-law… isn’t? _ He shuddered at the thought and inquired as if talking of a case. “And you, Greg, how are you doing now that you are having intercourse with my brother?”

A shout instantly came from the kitchen, “SHERLOCK!”

“WHAT!” The detective protested loudly, “I am just having a mate to mate conversation with Lestrade!”

“Play nice, we are coming with the hot chocolate in a few minutes.” Wanting to spare Rosie, John closed the kitchen doors. (Leaving a small gap to keep tabs on his boyfriend).

“This is ridiculous,” Sherlock sighed as Greg turned a beautiful shade of pink. “Sex is just sex; I don’t understand the secrecy and everything or why you choose to do it with Mycroft but it’s your problem, not mine. You are better for him then anyone I think… the other, they're all just goldfish." As the DI remained silently mortified, he added matter-of-factly, “you’ve shagged what, once a day since last Sunday, I hope that he is at least satisfactory?”

The pocket doors closing the kitchen opened with a loud bang. “SHERLOCK, COME HERE!”

Rolling his eyes, he walked in the direction of the kitchen where he was suddenly put in charge of the hob as the milk for an unknown reason bubbled out of the saucepan and the hob needed to be cleaned.

Sitting on his chair, John grinned. “Sorry about his bluntness, he’s going to be occupied for a moment with Rosie now.”

“No… no problem.” Greg stuttered, hoping that his cheeks were back to their normal colour, “it’s just that, I don’t expect him to chit-chat about the weather… but having him talking to me like that it’s… it’s insane.”

“Yep, I know. But we love him as he is, don’t we?” Changing the subject, he asked, “what are you doing for Christmas, have any plans?”

“Don’t know really, nothing complicated probably. Maybe something with My’, he doesn’t like Christmas but we can spend the evening together… We are constantly tested, and by NHS standards we are probably a familial unit now!” He chuckled and shook his head, “how life can change mate, so quickly, you have no idea. And you, what are you going to do?”

“We are leaving for the Holmes' cottage the 24 th , somewhere in the middle of the afternoon, and coming back to London on Boxing Day. Do you want to come for a small get together Saturday’s night?”

“You are going to see Sherlock’s parents?” Greg asked, staggered.

The doctor straightened his back, defensively. “Yes, I know we shouldn’t… but we are going to be extra careful and –“

Waving his hand in dismissal, Greg asked, “and Mycroft?”

“What?”

“He’s not coming?”

John turned quickly to check if Sherlock was listening, but he was singing carols with Rosie, “no, not since… since that  _ affair.  _ He helped them when they wanted to go… to where  _ she _ is but otherwise no contact. _ ” _

“Why?”  _ Is this the reason why Mycroft said that he hates Christmas? I know about the crazy sister… but why? _

“You will have to talk to him about that, Greg, sorry. You are my friend but… this is a complicated family business.” Sherlock's voice echoed in his head “ _That’s why he stays_ ”. _Oh, sod it!_ He murmured quickly, “if I am going to Siberia because of that, Sherlock is going to make you pay for it.” Quickly, before he changed his man, he explained, “in a few words, at 22, Mycroft learned from his uncle Rudy that his sister that was supposed to be dead was alive but in a super-security prison. He has to sworn secrecy has his sister, even if often in a catatonic state, was a tremendous danger to herself, her family and the country. Let's say that when they learned that she was still alive they weren’t pleased. Sherlock wasn’t happy about the whole ‘erasing memories’ thing either, but he has since then clarified everything with his brother and they are good now. As Holmes’ brothers can be of course. But their parents, especially Ms Holmes, are still devastated about his role in the affair.”

“But, it’s not his fault, it’s that uncle! And if it was for the greater good…” Greg pressed his hands on his face before removing his mask, “Fuck that! He was only 22! It’s been 4 years and they are still not talking to him?”  _ Poor man, all this pressure, trying to keep everything together to avoid more deaths, more problems… only to be shunned by his own parents.  _

“You know how it is, they understood why Mycroft manipulated Sherlock to forget his sister… but –“

“If he used his brain and his power to do –“

The noise of the doors opening and Rosie running to her father stopped their discussion. “Daddy! Uncle Greg! Hot chocolate!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt:  
> This story takes place while decorating for Christmas.  
> You must mention the weather, use the word 'frosted', and include this line of dialogue:  
> "They're all... goldfish."


	17. December 18th

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mycroft Holmes’ house… and his home.

It was a cosy evening and Greg was inside Mycroft’s grandiose home for the first time; an old detached house in Kensington, Edwardian or Victorian or Georgian Greg isn’t sure, the kind that was usually turned into an embassy or a premium hotel. On one of the few streets that Google never mapped… The first impression was that it was cold and far from the man he learned to know and love. Nonetheless, he felt a bit out of his depth as he thought about his own small flat.  _ It must have felt ridiculously dingy and small for him.  _ Looking at the art and intricate wood panelling, he tried to come up with something to say. “Hmmm… this is elegant.”

Chuckling, Mycroft pressed his hand on Greg’s back to stir him into the first reception room. “I know this is absurd, but it’s a part of me, a part of the charade…” He spins to embrace the grandiloquent hall, “the place where I play my role. A theatre set.”

“It’s all fake? Only a place to receive diplomats and other potentates.”

“No, nobody comes here except my superiors. All this is for them. The address is the key, most of the rooms are never used…” Closing the door of what could only be called a ballroom, he opened the next door, “a cigar lounge and on the other side is the lady’s boudoir.” The rooms were immaculate, not a spot of dust. As if reading his thoughts, Mycroft explained, “a cleaning team comes once a week for a good dusting of everything and I don’t like to put cloth over furniture as they did in the old days.”

“You don’t have in house personnel?” Greg asked, unable to imagine someone leaving alone in such a mausoleum. “Who’s your Ms Hudson?”

“Contrary to my brother, I don’t need a nanny. I am quite able to cook my own meals; Anthea takes care of my dry cleaning and all the other home linen can wait for the weekly cleaning. I have an online shopping list and if I need something special, I simply add it to the list and my people take care of it.”

“And if it’s urgent you ask Anthea,” the DI winked, thinking of the PA’s visit to Fortnum & Mason.

“Yes, she’s invaluable and she loves shopping.” Holding Greg’s hand, he walked up the stairs. “Come I am going to show you my real home.”

“Please do and, in case I forget later, I just want to tell you that I am honoured that you are sharing this with me.” Getting closer as they climbed the never-ending stairs, they remained silent a moment until Greg’s eyes fell on a portrait hanging at the intermediate landing. “For a fake portrait, that man really looks like you.” It was a head to toe portrait of a general in full regalia. He was tall and slim with a little something in the smile as if he knew secrets.

“Oh, yes, maybe a bit. It’s my great grandfather after all, General William M. Holmes. The M stands for Mycroft.” He frowned as he critically surveyed the portrait as if it wasn’t in his life since his childhood. “Sherlock used to say that I looked as constipated as my namesake.” He rolled his eyes, “my brother was a fun teenager to be around.” 

Stunned, the detective turned to watch down the hall. The view from the staircase was breathtaking. The majesty of the marble floor, the how-the-fuck-many-carats-gold light fixtures, the real Gainsborough and Turner on the walls. “It’s… it’s really yours?”

“Of course,” Mycroft frowned as if it was the stupidest comment. “My uncle left it to me, I kept it as it was useful to my career. Anyway, my family wasn’t interested.” He stopped, inhaling slowly as if he was gathering the courage to continue, “after what happened to Musgrave they didn’t want anything too grand. My parents and Sherlock have keys and rooms if needed, of course, but it’s rare.” A flicker of pain passed through Mycroft’s eyes. Shaking himself, he chuckled, “that suits me anyway, mummy always wants me to take them to musicals. Musicals! Can you imagine!”

Knowing better than to push the conversation about the price of such a grand estate in the middle of London and asking if his uncle was named Rudy, Greg asked. “What! Tommy is a really great musical, American Idiot and Hamilton also!”

“Obviously my mother is not enthralled by the modern musical! She prefers syrupy shows like My Fair Lady or,” Mycroft actually gasped in horror, “the Lion King.”

The ice broken after the uncomfortable subject, they continued their ascent. On the first floor landing, Mycroft pointed to a door. “This is my parents’ room with their private bath, Sherlock’s is one floor up, and,” he opened a double door, “this is my domain.”

It was a suite of four rooms: an office, a bedroom, a small living room with a wet bar and a full bath. A flat inside the house, Mycroft’s inner sanctum. Greg was pleased by the intimate setting, the light palette, the vinyl’s collection, the many books just laying around, the photographs and the eclectic art collection _. I am strangely certain that I am the first here, except for the cleaning staff.  _ Hugging his lover, he kissed him tenderly. “This is really nice, I am pleased that you have a place just for you in all this grandiloquent darkness, if I may say so.”

Mycroft beamed at the comment as if Greg’s opinion on his intimate space was everything. “Can I offer you something to drink, I can light the fire…”

Smacking the beautiful arse in front of him, the detective replied smugly, “yes, you certainly can,  _ My Lord _ .”

“Idiot,” Mycroft protested as he opened the bar, “I am not a lord, my father is still alive and well.” Greg, gobsmacked, was trying to absorb what his lover said when his  _ next in line _ lordship (OMG!) pressed a tumbler in his hand and murmured, “don’t be silly darling, we are  _ merely _ a family of Esquires and military men.”

Later, warm and a bit drunk if he was honest, Greg sighed of contentment. “This is the way every week should end…” He raised his glass, “a good drink, in excellent company.”

“I have a few bottles, let me give you one for your home.” He sighed sadly, “I can’t always be there at the end of a long day, my schedule is hectic at best, so if I can bring you a bit of comfort.” He walked to an armoire to get a new bottle of the GlenDronach and placed it on the little console near the door.

“I know that it is probably something that I wouldn’t be able to pay for myself so, thank you, this is a really nice Christmas present.”

“Oh, this is not for Christmas, it’s just… you liked it, and I have a whole case of it.”

“Talking about Christmas…” He waited after a suddenly suspicious Mycroft joined him on the comfy sofa to continue. “John and Sherlock invited us to come to their place Saturday, the 19 th . For something simple, not a Christmas dinner just wine and little things. With the new restrictions in place for Christmas, it’s probably the last time before a few weeks if we want to see Rosie and them.”

“Us?” Mycroft huffed incredulously. “I am busy that weekend. Work.” The government man replied with an edge of coldness.

“All weekend? Even Saturday night? Can I change your mind… you know how Rosie loves you!”

“No.” The word was unfortunately quite definite. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am awfully late but... but extending Christmas a bit is a good thing this year.
> 
> Prompt:  
> This story takes place a week before Christmas.  
> You must mention Christmas dinner, use the word 'busy', and include this line of dialogue: "Can I change your mind?"


	18. December 19th

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A small gathering

“Next year we are going to have a big party Ms Hudson, don’t worry!” John said to the old lady, a bit lost in his big chair.  _ At least she’s not alone like so many older people. _

She looked at her young friend with a sad smile, “I lost so many dear friends this year John,” extending her hand as if she wanted to pat him, she sighed and drank a bit of wine. “I know that all this is required.”

“You know that you are going to be the top priority as soon as the government says that the vaccines are okay,”  _ Mycroft told me so!  _ Knowing that Ms Hudson was thinking about all the others who are going to wait a bit longer, he whispered, “you need it, with all the horrible things Sherlock is doing in the flat!”

“I hear you, John Watson, how dare you say that I’ll do anything to endanger Hudders!” He winked at his old friend, “she’s making the best scones and the most not so horrible jumpers!” Everyone laughed at the view of the detective showing-off his new hand-knitted jumper adorned with a violin playing snowman. The playful banter was interrupted by the sound of the doorbell. As he was already up, Sherlock rushed down the stairs to open the door, the beautiful green wreath nearly falling on the ground. “Lestrade?” His face fell as he looked at the street where no ominous black car was parked. “Where’s Mycroft? I… I was hoping –“

“He said ‘no’. I tried  _ really _ hard, but I had to stop if I wanted to have a nice evening. Still don’t understand…”

“Mycroft and Christmas…” Sherlock closed the door and stepped back to leave enough space for Greg to remove his coat and boots. “As I told you, he doesn’t want to come to our parents’ home because of the constant spitefulness and he’s still acting awkward and subdued around me. But… I thought that, as you are here and everything, that he would at the very least come here.” He stretched his tall frame and waved his hand as if to say  _ poppycock _ , “it looks like I am not in favour as well… nevermind, his loss, more wine for us!” Turning on his heel abruptly, he walked up the stairs without saying another word, clearly upset.

Following slowly, Greg damned once more the Holmes’ stubbornness!

“Uncle Greg!” Rosie ran to their visitor but stopped at the tape line that John put on the floor when the pandemic started – easier than trying to restrain the little girl – looked behind the policeman and asked, “where’s Uncle Mycroft?”

John, who saw his boyfriend make a beeline for their bedroom and knew better than to ask questions in front of Rosie, hugged her as he eyed Greg. “He’s out helping people in trouble; you know that he is rarely available.”

“But he is always so funny when we play Operation!” She was about to cry.

“Oh darling,” Greg kneeled down in front of her. “If you want, I can play with you. I am not your Uncle Mycroft but… I may have a surprise in my pocket!” He made a show searching all his pockets while Rosie giggled and finally pulled out a beautiful small magnifying glass. “Voilà!”

“Like papa!” She was about to run to show it to Nana Hudders when a stern look from his father stopped her. “Thank you, Uncle Greg. I love it.” She smiled and rushed to Ms Hudson.

Staying near the door with Greg, John grilled him a bit, “so, what’s the story?”

“He said no, simply, don’t know why… and that thing with his parents can’t be that bad? I saw him at F&M purchasing an expensive gift for them! He was going to their place to give them the damn gift.”

“As far as I know, it’s the only thing he still does… The first Christmas after Eurus I asked him why he was getting a gift for them… and going there for tea of all things.”

“What did he say?”

John rolled his eyes. "He replied, we have to. It's tradition."

“Come on, all this is ridiculous –“ The discussion was interrupted by shouts coming from the bedroom then a big bang as if something was thrown on the wall. John was about to enter the bedroom when Sherlock walked out, clearly trying to push down his anger.

John stepped near, “Are you okay, love, I can’t remember the last time I heard you shouting…”

Finally smiling at the sight of Rosie who was exploring the carpet with her magnifying glass, he shrugged his shoulders. “Nothing wrong, we won’t spoil the evening because of him.” The little girl was writing or drawing her finds in her little notebook, her tongue out as she concentrated.  _ His loss, she’s so precious.  _ Pushing any thoughts about his brother away, he called out, “are we playing a game or something? Come sit with us Greg, we all have been tested this morning – being a cold bastard with power have at least this advantage – let’s find a game good for everyone!”

“Not Twister,” Ms Hudson protested, “my hip –“

“Charades?” Rosie called, “I am really good at charades!”

  
  


With enthusiasm, they played for half-an-hour until Rosie started to fidget. “Another game!” 

“We can play a board game, maybe Cluedo?” Sherlock asked hopefully.

As everyone screamed “no” and laughed, someone cleared his throat at the door.

“UNCLE MYCROFT!”

John pulled Rosie into his arms and murmured something in her ear as Greg rushed towards him.  _ I think they need a moment. _

The DI stood in front of Mycroft, bewildered by his presence. “You are here? I thought…”

“My brother has made tremendously good arguments, I’ve rarely seen him so  _ vocal _ about his... _displeasure_ , and -”, he sighed as he softly pressed a hand on Greg’s chest, “and I didn’t want any disagreements with you. You are right, it was irrational of me to include them," he watched the quiet festive reunion a moment, "to include them in my problematic relationship with my parents. Sherlock does not deserve it, not after everything he went through.”

“He was really upset you know… Rosie also.”

“I know,” extending his neck to see if the others were looking at them, he kissed Greg tenderly. “Come on, I have a game of Operation to lose.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt:
> 
> This story takes place at home. You must mention snowmen, use the word 'wreath',
> 
> and include this line of dialogue: "We have to. It's tradition."


	19. December 19th

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A word escaped from Mycroft’s lips...

Mycroft’s car stopped in front of Greg’s place. Looking at his silent lover, the DI murmured, “it was nice, isn't it? Ro’ was super happy, and Sh’lock also. He didn’t say it but I know how to read my Holmeses...” He was lazily sitting sideways, his head on the comfortable backrest. Waiting. “Are you coming… Or?”

“I’m sorry, it’s already late anyway. Better if we go to bed.” As an eyebrow rose seductively, although with difficulty due to too many drinks, he smiled at the effort. “Don’t even try to seduce me, Gregory Lestrade, I said bed as in sleeping not… frolicking.”

Unaware of his slurred speech, Greg protested. “I want way more than  _ frolickiate _ with you, Mycroft Holmes… but just sleep and cuddle is okay.”

_ Frolickiate _ . The grave man winced at the made-up word.  _ Okay, he’s definitely cute when drunk, when he’s all sleepy and soft.  _ “Don’t try to be cute, it won’t work. I am not Anthea.”

The DI straightened as far as he was possible in his state, flattered. “Anthea? Sh’ thinks I’m a cutie?”

“Only when you are intoxicated darling, don’t look too pleased,” Mycroft added, unable to stifle a small smile, glossing over the fact he called the man  _ darling _ . “Go home, it’s better like that.”

Greg sighed loudly, admitting defeat, and without even a farewell kiss from his one-day-old official boyfriend, he left the car. The car disappeared in the night as soon as his foot touched the sidewalk. _. _

He was arguing with his keys when his phone vibrated. Letting his keys drop, he winced at the noise of on the deserted street and opened his phone.

> Sorry, really. I just need a bit of time alone. I wouldn’t have been be good company MH
> 
> You did absolutely nothing wrong. MH
> 
> Talk to you tomorrow? MH

After a moment when he was finally able to enter his flat, Greg dropped his keys on the nearest surface and read over the texts again in case he was mistaken.  _ Wow. That’s super loving and warm. _ Hating his sarcastic inner voice, he knew the man, after all, he simply replied,  _ Okay _ , before going into bed without removing his clothes. Falling instantly asleep despite the fact that a little something that Mycroft said was still annoying him, even if he couldn’t remember exactly what. As his eyes closed he suddenly remembered and opened his phone with clumsy fingers, sent a text, replied and went back to sleep for good.

Alone in his kitchen, Mycroft meticulously prepared his favourite herbal tea. He was already too stressed; tea or coffee was out of the question at half-past midnight. Leaning against the countertop, as it was just to boil water, he finally found some peace. The room was his favourite, even above his personal suite. It had been renovated a few years earlier and outfitted for a chef. Something about the light wood cabinets, the marble top, the inox appliances, was particularly soothing. The remembrance of all the nights trying to perfect macarons or puff pastry maybe? With only a glass of good wine and his selections of CDs, he closed his eyes, inhaled the peaceful aroma of lavender coming from his cup and tried to control his mind and breathing.

The one-sided discussion with his brother was still tormenting him.  _ Sherlock was so angry. _ He knew he should have talked it over with Gregory, explain why he decided to show up at the little gathering and why he was still perturbed.  _ Maybe not caring isn’t an advantage, but it’s obviously simpler.  _ His old self was still doubting everything about his affair with Lestrade.  _ What are his expectations, can it ever be a real relationship? Being a… a couple. This is ridiculous. At our age… But Sherlock is happy and satisfied, no?  _ Chiding himself for his sentimentally, he stopped his thought before he added a hopeful ‘ _ why not me?’. _

He was about to go to bed when his phone text alert resonated. 

> Dd yu mean iit? GL
> 
> You must be more specific, what are you talking about? MH
> 
> You sid darlin GL

“Oh,” his voice was only a murmur, but it echoed in the silent room, “he heard that then.”  _ What I am supposed to say? _ He looked away from his phone, searching the darkness outside as if his own reflection in the garden's double doors was able to give him the response he desperately needed. His fingers were slowly caressing the screen, wanting to scream  _ Yes, my Darling Gregory, I mean it! Never doubt it. And I love you!  _ All in caps, loudly, to be sure that the man will never doubt his affection. But he was afraid, so afraid!

He exhaled and texted simply.

> Good night Gregory. MH 

He walked to the entrance of the kitchen and closed the light, his phone still in hand. A bit lost, he walked up to his rooms while keeping his eyes on the screen. Not looking at the cold grandeur that surrounded him or his ancestors’ judgemental eyes when suddenly afraid of losing everything, he added,

> Yes, yes I meant it. MH

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Is it still a Christmas fic if January is ending? lol Sorry!   
>    
> Prompt:
> 
> This story takes place close to midnight.
> 
> You must mention a family member, use the word 'time', and include this line of dialogue: "Did you mean it?"


	20. December 20th

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I have a plan!

It was late when Greg woke up from his troubled sleep _.  _ Turning on his back he lazily scratched his chest when he realized that he was still fully dressed.  _ I must stop. I am too old to drink that much.  _ Still not fully awake, he mechanically extended his arm to reach for his phone. As usual, his first reflex was to check for any texts. The first one was of Anthea, saying that yesterday's test was negative and asking if it was okay if the nurse came at noon for his test. He quickly replied that it was okay. The second was from John, asking if he was all right as he was a bit sloshed last night and that he is no longer a young man. He replied with an impolite emoticon followed by four cups of coffee.

Then it was his exchange with Mycroft.  _ Oh My God, I didn’t! _

> Dd yu mean iit? GL
> 
> You must be more specific, what are you talking about? MH
> 
> You sid darlin GL
> 
> Good night Gregory. MH
> 
> Yes, yes I meant it. MH

Instantly filled by an equal mix of shame and glee, he closed his eyes a moment, pressinging his phone over his heart like a sentimental fool.  _ It was a nice evening; it started badly but...  _ His morosity disappeared as soon as Mycroft entered 221b. The man was in one of his ‘relaxed’ suits, a nice corduroy trouser with a wool waistcoat and a coloured linen shirt. The tie perfectly matched, of course. He was the epitome of country elegance.  _ He’s so sexy, _ Lestrade sighed,  _ and the way he played with Rosie for hours _ . He realized that he was using the little girl as a living shield between the older Holmes and the others, but nonetheless he was great with the child.  _ And the way she told him secretly everything she asked Santa for! She knows who’s got the power and money! It was utterly cute. Cute?  _ He frowned, trying to remember when the last time he used the word.  _ Got the impression that I made a fool of myself a few times recently! Is this why he asked his driver to drop me home instead of his place like usual? Usual… How could I say usual when this thing – whatever it is – started only 3 weeks ago! _

Getting out of bed, he carried himself to the bathroom for a long, hot shower and a change of clothes.  _ Everything is going to be clearer after I am clean and a strong cup of coffee or two! _

Smelling nice and in his usual jeans and t-shirt weekend attire, Greg decided to act like an adult and opened his phone. Looking at Mycroft's last words,  _ I meant it  _ was enough to inject some courage (at least, in his fingers!).

> Good morning My’, I hope you slept well. GL

_ There you go. Simple, nothing wrong or stupid. _ He was in the middle of pouring his first coffee when he received a reply. Mug in hand, he nonchalantly read.

> Good morning to you also, Gregory, hope the night was restful. MH
> 
> Yes, sorry about my atrocious text. I was tired and not perfectly coherent. GL
> 
> Tired? MH
> 
> I am seriously thinking about using a winking smiley. MH
> 
> Okay, I admit, I was drunk. GL
> 
> No problem, you had fun and we were amongst friends. MH
> 
> Not a good example though, a get together with alcohol in the middle of a pandemic. GL
> 
> Even if we are all tested daily. Which is still crazy by the way. GL
> 
> It’s for my egoistical pleasure so, don’t worry, the taxpayers don’t pay for that. MH
> 
> I got the feeling that I don’t want to know. Are you available today? We didn’t really talk yesterday and… and I curiously miss you. GL
> 
> That is indeed curious. MH
> 
> But sorry to say that I am in a meeting, something is happening. I can’t really talk, sorry. MH
> 
> I understand, but at least let me tell you that I was really happy that you showed off last night. The evening was better for everyone because you were there. GL
> 
> (insert rolling eyes emoji) MH
> 
> Lol good day… darling ;-) GL
> 
> You too MH

After his second coffee and plain toast, he was relaxing on the sofa - the never-ending repetition on the news channel slowly lulling him back to sleep - when his doorbell started to ring impatiently. Running a hand in his dishevelled hair, he straightened his t-shirt and opened his front door, secretly expecting Mycroft. But it was his brother…

“Sherlock? What are you –“

“Good morning, I have a plan!” The man grinned that strange maniacal smile the DI knew was announcing trouble. He pressed a hot coffee into his hand and entered the flat. Greg looked outside to check if John – the voice of reason – was somewhere nearby and winced as the detective shouted from the kitchen, “Come on Lestrade, let's get on with it."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: 
> 
> This story takes place at home.
> 
> You must mention Santa, use the word 'carry', and include this line of dialogue:
> 
> "Let's get on with it."


	21. December 24th (part 1)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A little road trip

Mycroft walked out of his house and was faced by something totally unplanned in lieu of his usual town car.  _ What is it now? _ Greg was standing there, debonair, his bum comfortably pressed against a black SUV and grinning like a kid in a candy store.

A cautious smile adorning his lips at the sight, the government man stopped short of the vehicle and embraced the irremediably sexy view. “You look quite tempting Gregory, but what did you do to my chauffeur?”

“We gave him a few days off for Christmas.”

“That’s really sweet, dear, but first, how I am supposed to go around town and, second, who are ‘we’?”

“Anthea and me, of course, and you won’t need to go around town as your schedule is clear till Boxing Day.”

“It’s a lie though…” He stepped in front of Greg, trying to stay focused despite the intoxicating gleam of anticipation in his eyes. “My  _ former  _ PA knows that I have many appointments today and the 26th.” Frowning at the unwanted change in his agenda, he deadpanned anyhow, “don’t really know why, but it’s unacceptable to work on the twenty-fifth for some reason.”

The numerous cameras outside the secured small manor were the only things that stopped Greg from pulling the pouting man into his arms.  _ He’s so friggin sexy when he’s annoyed.  _ “You deserved the break; your anonymous chauffeur deserved a break; Anthea deserved a break; God, even I deserve a break! It was a Hell of a year.”

“His name is Peter.” Eyeing the vehicle once more he sighed, “and the car?”

“It’s not a _car,”_ Greg objected, still in awe by the hundred of thousand pounds worth of SUV temporarily in his possession, he opened his arms to embrace the vehicle, “it’s a Range Rover Sentinel!”

“A what?”

“It’s a top security James Bond level SUV! I saw it in Top Gear a few months ago… Anthea was good with everything, even the reduction of your usual security team, but she insisted on this glorious monster. Isn't it wonderful?”

Finally starting to relax, Mycroft smiled at the older man’s enthusiasm, “I’m sure it was quite a torture for you Gregory, such a bother to have to drive –“

“Come on,” Greg interrupted the love of his life, “jump in the car!” He opened the passenger door and saluted, “I am ready when you are, Sir.”

He sat in the comfortable seat, unused to be in front when not driving. “May I at least inquire where we are going?”

“A surprise! But know that we won’t be back in London before the 26!” Lestrade turned the ignition, the purr of the motor was everything that can be expected from a perfect piece of engineering.

“I need to go pack then –“

“Everything is taken care of! Anthea put together a weekend bag for you, it’s already in the boot.” With a press of his phone, Mycroft opened the gate without arguing. “I was a bit uncomfortable,” Greg pleaded, “but she said it wasn’t the first time for her.”

“How sweet of her.” Rolling his eyes, her boss finally admitted that he was well played and mumbled. “I just hope that she thought about my toothbrush this time.”

Driving amongst London’s traffic with confidence, Greg laughed, "good job I brought two then!"

Knowing his PA’s perfectionism, except about remembering who the boss is, obviously, Mycroft opened his iPod knowing that he was already synced with the car audio system. “If we are going on what is colloquially called a road trip, we need music. Want to listen to something in particular?”

“As you wish, I have total faith in your musical choice,” chuckling as Mycroft searched in his playlist he added hurriedly, “maybe a bit early for opera though.”

“Don’t worry,” a mix of blues standard started as he put down his iPod. Looking outside, he tried to deduce where they were going.  _ Too far away for a day trip, we are on the A1… that means anywhere in the north. Or at some point, we are going to take the M505 exit for Cambridge. Somewhere romantic… he is so hopelessly romantic, Stratford-upon-Avon maybe? No, he would have taken the M40. The Peak District? The Lake District? _

He was so lost in his thoughts that he never realized that Gregory's hand was naturally resting on his knee until the man talked. “Stop thinking, nothing will go wrong if you are surprised by something My’,” the detective chided.

“It’s not easy, letting someone else decide, you know how I am…” Pressing his fingers on Greg’s, he turned away from the highway signalisation to observe his lover.  _ My lover… who would have known? _

Knowing that it wasn’t something against him, the detective shrugged his shoulders and, pointing to the seat behind, he asked. “I have a bag with coffee in thermos mugs and little snacks if you want something. Could you please give me the coffee in the blue mug?”

Extending his arm, Mycroft seized the bag – not without innocently touching Greg – and opened the mug before putting it in the cupholder. “Here you go darling, that way you won’t fall asleep at the wheel of a half-a-million pound car.”

“I tried not to think about what will happen to me if I merely scratch the paint job!” His eyes still on the road, he suggested. “Close your eyes if you want, I know you worked late yesterday. You must be tired…”

“If you think that I am going to sleep while you are driving me, I don’t know where… you are delusional my poor Gregory.”

“As you wish, love, as you wish…” After a few sips of the delicious coffee, his hand found its way back on Mycroft’s leg and he started to lightly stroke the soft wool of his trousers as he hummed along with the relaxing music. Hoping to induce his passenger into a nap despite the hour.

Five minutes later, Mycroft's head lolled over Greg’s arm as he fell asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt:
> 
> This story takes place while on the road. (Totally nailed this one!), use the word 'easy', and include this line of dialogue: "Good job I brought two."


	22. December 24th part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mycroft learned that all surprises aren’t intrinsically bad.

It was around noon when Mycroft emerged from his slumber, the jostling of the car waking him up from a delightful dream where the man at his side may or may not have been the main (mostly naked) star.

“Sorry, someone cut me, and I had to take the exit a bit more forcibly than I should have.”

“No problem,” he mumbled as he checked the time, “I slept for more than two hours, how is it possible!”

“You once told me that you never sleep in a car, I know now that it is a blatant lie!” Greg joked, finding his partner’s confusion delectable.

Not wanting to think that the reason was how safe and comforted he always felt in Gregory’s presence, Mycroft tried to estimate their location. “Where are we? The A64?” He frowned, curious about their destination. “The next city is York…” Turning away from the scenery he asked, “Gregory Lestrade, are we going to York?”

_ Yes, but I won’t give you the satisfaction! _ “As if I was going to say something! I’m a bit peckish, could you please give me something from the lunch bag, don’t know what Anthea put in it besides the coffee.” With a smile, he accepted the granola bar Mycroft handed to him. “Do you want to stop for the loo before or after York?” He misled his partner, “the tank is still full.”

“No rush, we can wait after York…” Unable to stop himself, he tried again. “North York Moors? Newcastle?”

“Your playlist stopped half an hour ago; do you want to choose something else?”

“Okay, okay, I am going to stop!” Shaking his head, he scrolled his iPod until he found what he was looking for. “Let me know if you don’t like them.”

“Who doesn’t like The Beatles! And no, we are not going to Manchester!” Greg laughed and started to sing, following the song. “Come on, darling, Here comes the sun, da la la la, here comes the sun –“

“You don’t want me to sing!” The serious man protested, “if I do you are going to suddenly hate me!”

Softly, Greg replied, “never…”

After a few kilometres, Lestrade cursed as a detour forced them to go through York instead of going around it.  _ Anthea did wonders with that temporary detour, sorry people! _ “At least as long as we stay on that road, we should be okay. I can’t remember the last time I tried to drive in the middle of the Old Town.”

“I love the Shambles and everything,” Mycroft confined quietly, as if ashamed of such a pedestrian destination, “but I admit that it’s not an easy place to be when you are driving!” He winked, “especially something the size of a small bus!”

“Hey! Don’t talk against this beauty!”

“Should I be jealous of a car, dear?”

“No, of course not! Don’t tease me… My heart is able to be perfectly split in two with no problem!”

Chuckling as Mycroft slapped him on the shoulder playfully, Greg slowed the car as they entered the city. “I am going to remain outside the city wall and go back to the highway on the other side.”

His companion hummed without really paying attention, excited as he was to be near a place that he is fond of. “There is a really well-done railway museum right outside of the wall… Maybe one day I could –“ He muttered, unsure.

“What?”

“This is stupid, just that… you know, I thought that one day when all this is going to be over, maybe Rosie would like to see the trains.”

Grinning at the idea of an outing with the little girl, Greg nodded, “that’s a great idea My’. If I am invited, I would love to join also, maybe we should make a weekend of it! With the Viking Center and the castle and everything. It’s been ages since I came to York for fun!”

Mycroft murmured, barely audible over the noise of the car, “you think that… she would like to spend time with me? With us?”

“Of course, Ro’ loves you so much, darling! You are her favourite uncle.”

“She only has one uncle, Gregory.” 

“Oi! John said that I am her uncle even if I am not in the family. Anyway, with Molly as Godmother, her papa as her Godfather and Ms Hudson as her Nanny… Don’t think we need to be formal about it!”

“True, she is well cared for and well-loved.”

“And curious, she’s going to be thrilled to explore York with you.”

“Will see… Be careful, we are only a few blocks from the wall now.”

“I’m going to turn on the right to drive around the fortification and we are going to be back on the highway in no time!”

“To the mystery destination.”

“Yep.” He chuckled at the name of the street as he turned to the right, “Nunnery Lane… that’s promising! Get thee to a nunnery!” Once on Nunnery Lane, unexpectedly, Greg turned immediately into a small lane.

“Where are you…” Mycroft stopped, looking around unable to trust his own eyes. “Gregory… what are we doing here?” The emotion was palpable in his voice.

“It’s your gift,” he parked the SUV in front of a small Grade II listed building. A charming house, all painted in white with black trims. “A getaway, only the two of us.”

“How?” Mycroft uttered as memories flooded his mind.

“I was looking for something special when Sherlock talked to me about York, and how it was your favourite place when you were young.” Greg hesitated, knowing that he was nearing some uncharted boundaries. “And about that house that your family rented for Christmas a long time ago, walking around York, playing board games… before… everything.”  _ I am seriously hoping that I am doing the right thing. Is it too much? _

_ How is it possible, this is the same house! _ Touched by an array of emotion, Mycroft kissed Greg lovingly, astonished by the thoughtfulness of the man. “And it’s for us until Boxing day?”

“Yes, and for every single Christmas after that as long as you want...”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Awwwww sweet man. Told you it was going to be a nice surprise even if Sherlock is behind it!
> 
> Prompt:
> 
> This story takes place somewhere out of London. You must mention board games, use the word 'easy', and include this line of dialogue:  
> "Every single Christmas..."


	23. December 24th part 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ghosts of Christmas past

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been a long time, sorry, but it's a long one!
> 
> Warning: Mycroft is OC but it's fine... it's all fine!

Mycroft walked out of the SUV slowly, hypnotized by the house. Looking around, he quickly spotted the things that changed over time. The complex on the other side of the lane was new, the lane itself was still mostly composed of a row of back gardens with only a few front doors.  _ That door wasn’t blue, it was forest green, and it was still the only house with a front garden and a real entrance… and a sudden abundance of brand new CCTV. _

Greg stood beside him, pressing his hand in his. “Alright love?”

Stunned by the word, Mycroft waited a moment before nodding. “Yes, everything is perfect.” Without never admitting it, his thoughts regularly sought the peace he felt that Christmas in the difficult years that followed, and he was eager to see the inside! “Can we go in?”

“Of course,” opening the door with the PIN transmitted by the (vetted, of course) owner, Greg entered the lobby and dropped the bags at the décor. The small cottage design was the quintessence of Christmas.  _ For fuck sakes, it’s a garland away from being a Christmas shop _ .  _ Even the bottle of disinfectant by the door had a bow!  _ Pine wreaths ornamented with red velvet ribbons were going down the staircase’s ramp while an array of cinnamon candles and golden nutcrackers adorned the mantle where a crackling fire was already put on. Stepping inside a bit further his eyes fell on a gigantic tree tastefully decorated in the living room.  _ I know that we asked for the house to be decorated but… isn’t it a bit too much. Mycroft is going to run away!  _ He cleared his voice, worried that his companion was still silent. “Oh my, my” he sniggered and tried to joke, unaware of what he was supposed to say, “this is something. I know that some persons like to put a show for the Holiday but –“

“It’s perfect.” Smiling as he surveyed the room, Mycroft decidedly removed his coat.

_ I can’t believe that I am here with him! _ Pressing a hand in the small of his back, he turned Mycroft until he faced him and smiled. “Hey… kiss me.”

Happy to comply, he gingerly pressed his lips onto Greg’s until the grumbles of his stomach interrupted the romantic episode. “Come on Gregory, I am famished… knowing Anthea I am certain that…” Opening the fridge he giggled at the plethora of fine foods, wines, and desserts. “We have everything we need!”

Unable to resist the other man's enthusiasm, Greg promptly walked up the stairs to the master bedroom to put down their bags and, after a quick text to Anthea to confirm that everything was fine – he joined Mycroft for a delicious snack in front of the fire.

“What do you want to do now?” Mycroft asked as they put away the dishes and the remains of their little feast.

“After the long drive, I think I would love to walk a bit. You are York specialist, what should we do?”

“Anyway, even without the pandemic, it’s the 24 th so a lot of tourist attractions,” the expected disgust at such a term was toned down by Mycroft honest deception that the castle or train museum was closed, “are not opened.” He looked outside, the sky was bright and inviting. “Maybe we can simply walk the wall first, if you don’t need to do any shopping…”

“The wall is perfect with, after, a good brandy in front of the fire to warm ourselves! For tomorrow, don’t do things like coercing someone to opens the cathedral or a museum for us! It’s Christmas, people need to have family time also.”

“I will not spoil anyone's festivity, I swear!” Mycroft's innocent smile was announcing a bit of mischief.

“Come on, you menace, you better change your socks for good woollen ones, or you are going to be cold. Anthea should have put comfy trousers, good gloves and everything as well in –“

“You really planned everything, didn’t you?” The man stopped Greg as he was on his way to the second floor. “You are a wonderful man, Gregory Lestrade,” pressing himself against the policeman's sturdy frame he kissed him lovingly.

Pushing the man up the stairs, Greg muttered something about how he was going to stay – alone - on the first floor or they would never get out of the house. His valiant effort ruined a few minutes later by a suggestive voice calling from the bedroom.

“Oh no! Gregory darling… I am looking and  _ looking _ and I can’t find any trousers in the bag.” 

Closing his eyes, he murmured, “this is not fair!” Before asking more loudly, “have you carefully checked love? I’m certain that Anthea didn’t forget.”

“Yes,” Mycroft moaned, “but I can’t find anything and I’m getting cold… standing here naked, near the bed, all alone –“

“COMING!”

An hour later, the pair was thoroughly and blissfully exhausted even though they never went out for a walk. (Totally Mycroft's fault!) 

Pulling Mycroft closer, Greg deadpanned, “in the middle of the afternoon, mister Holmes, how scandalous of you.”

“It’s your bad influence,” Mycroft frowned theatrically, “I was supposed to be with MI6 this afternoon to review the implication of the pandemic on our national security.”

“So, I’ve put the whole country at risk by kidnapping you?” The mere concept of going away for two days suddenly felt ludicrous!

“Don’t worry darling,” he laid a hand on Greg’s chest, sorry for his reaction, “it was only the umpteenth meeting, everything is already in place.”

“Who are you? And what did you do to my boyfriend?” The word escaped the detective’s lips before he realized what he said! “I mean, you are a…. boy and a friend –“

“I don’t want to be your boyfriend.” Mycroft interrupted Greg’s tentative plan to recover from his blunder.

“Oh –“

“It’s a bit adolescent, don’t you think? Maybe just when we are alone, otherwise I think I prefer…” Trying to find a better expression, he murmured, lost in his thoughts, “not partner… it’s a bit business-like… Maybe…  _ significant other _ when we are in a public setting? I think that’s what the people around  _ Her _ said instead of boyfriend or girlfriend.” He nodded and kissed Greg, satisfied, “yes, we can go for that for your introduction.” After a moment of silence, he suddenly burst into laughers, unrestrained, “or I can simply say ‘This is Gregory’ and snog you, the message is going to be clear don’t you think?”

Greg’s heart somersaulted artistically, doing flips after flips and leaps of victory, while his exterior demeanour remained stoic.  _ He thought about presenting me to the Queen… about a public session of snogging. _ “Hum, yes… that’s… that’s nice. All of it.”

Turning his head to look into Greg’s eyes, his boyfriend-in-intimate-setting said, “I want to thank you again for all this darling, it’s the most wonderful gift… This place… this place is the last time I had a nice Christmas you know.”

He waited a bit in case Mycroft wanted to say something more before carefully asked, “but your relationship with your parents deteriorated only after they learned about your sister, isn’t that true?” He knew that the Holmeses thought that Eurus was dead in a fire in the hospital where she was kept and were livid when they learned that she was alive.

“Then your favourite Christmas was…”

“After her death. It was a liberation of some sort, even for my parents. The guilt was still there but lessening, and we were finally able to have a great time together without having to go visit her on the 25th.” He smiled as he remembered Sherlock running towards the castle, sliding in the wet snow with a big grin. “Isn’t it horrible, I was pleased that my younger sister was dead…”

“Love, she was in an institution because she put the fire to your ancestral home... I saw the ruins; I can imagine how strong it was!”

Mycroft sighed and pressed his head into Greg’s shoulder, looking for comfort. “I was on the first-floor reading when I realized that something was wrong. I saw my mother with Eurus, running to the exit. I quickly asked where Sherlock was and my sister said that he was with father.” He paused, the horror of the night still fresh in his memory, “we rushed in direction of the door when I saw my father trying to stop the fire…”

“Oh my God, Sherlock? Where…”

“I heard Sherlock scream from the first floor as my mother escaped with Eurus. I finally found him… He was tied up in the playroom, unable to escape.” Greg, not knowing what to do in face of such a horrible event, hugged Mycroft a bit closer. “When I walked outside, transporting an unconscious Sherlock in my arms, Eurus laughed. A peal of laughter, as if it was nothing but a game.”

“She was in serious need of psychiatric help,” unable to censor himself, he accused, “ how could your parents –“

“I know and, worst of all, they know. They should have institutionalized her years before. But…” his voice became fragile, “she was their little girl.”

“Guilt was unbearable probably. Can you imagine, one of your children tortured and nearly killed one other.”

“After the announcement of her death, everything slowly became better. Before I left for university, before Sherlock started public school… And we came here. It was wonderful, I ran everywhere with my brother! We went to the castle, to the cathedral, we played pirates and hide and seek in the ruins of the Abbaye. My parents were happy, the idea of Eurus sliding away slowly as if it was but a nightmare.”

“What happened?”

“A year later I was living away, in Cambridge, my parents put Sherlock in boarding school in hope that he could make friends… It wasn’t successful. I think he hates me because I abandoned him. That next Christmas he barely talked to me.”

Thinking about how damaged the man was before John entered his life, Greg shuddered. “You were away, you know it’s not your fault…”

“I know, and… it’s better now. How our relationship is slowly mended. The fact that he helped you in the planning of this speaks volume.”

“He wanted you to be happy.”

“I wasn’t only Sherlock… A month after my graduation, when it was clear that I wanted to work on my Uncle steps, Rudy talked to me about Eurus. Explaining the how and why she was imprisoned. First, I was mad at him, thinking about my mother’s pain! I realized later that it was right. For the greater good, she needed to be alone and unknown. This is why that… since then… I avoid emotional reunions like Christmas. I didn’t want to see the sadness mixed with relief in my parent’s eyes when I knew that Eurus was alive and potentially far more dangerous than before.” 

“Doing anything else was clearly impossible, but to put all this on your shoulders!” Greg argued protectively, “you were so young!”

“I know, but all this is in the past now. The secret is no more mine alone…” He angled his head to be able to see by the window while remaining comfortably pillowed against Greg. A light snow was slowly falling, a perfect setting for their little getaway. After one last kiss he decidedly rolled on the bed to get up. “Enough nostalgia, we must go out now if we want to enjoy the city before nightfall!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Only one chapter left!
> 
> Prompt:  
> This story takes place on Christmas Eve.  
> You must mention brandy, use the word 'nostalgia', and include this line of dialogue: "Hey... kiss me."


	24. December 25th

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A bright morning

Turning his head away from the impudent ray of light that entered by an opening in the curtains, Greg muttered in Mycroft’s neck. “Nooooo… it’s too early.”

“Too much brandy yesterday,  _ boyfriend _ ?” The man murmured, hiding his smile in his lover’s glorious grey hair.

Growling to express how not funny the joke was, Greg level of stress raised when he realized more clearly that it was the morning.  _ I must prepare everything! _ Slowly disentangling himself from his lover’s embrace he placed a soft kiss on his hand. “I will not inflect on you my morning breath, as you said I had a bit too much to drink yesterday and I am not perfectly fresh.”

Shaking his head in protestation, Mycroft tried to pull the man down but without success. “Gregory dear, don’t be ridiculous, come back to bed at once.”

“I’m going to clean my teeth and start breakfast… You, Mister Holmes, can relax in bed or in that huge tub if you want.”

“I would prefer to be with you. Either in the bed or the bath.”

The loved voice nearly convinced the detective, but he stayed strong! “No! Gifts and a big Christmas Day brunch!”

“Don’t tell me you got me a gift… you have already spoiled me rotten.”

“Gifts and brunch!” Greg repeated as he left the bed. “It’s tradition isn't it?”

Mycroft hummed as a wave of nostalgia – clearly a staple of their little getaway – conquered his mind. “Yes, but I was a child and quite excited by the idea of a table full of sweet things and new books or games.” He tried once more to pull Greg back into bed, “but I am a grown-up now!”

Delighted by the playfulness of the comment, the older man chuckled before pushing down his lover’s snooping hands under the blanket. “You, Sir, are a danger to my perfectly scheduled morning!”

Pouting, Mycroft fell back onto his pillow. “I am going to take a bath then… with bubbles and everything.” Feeling that it was his last resort, he added haughtily, “and I am going to masturbate.”

“Go on love,” Greg chuckled, “it’s going to be a new tradition! As long as you think of me when having a wank!” He winked and flew out of the room.

An hour later Mycroft walked down the stairs, unsurprisingly relaxed, to be welcomed by the scent of sugary concoction, chocolate, cinnamon rolls, and candied orange.

“Greg! This is such a feast; we won’t be able to eat all this!” Looking at everything he smiled, “poor man, it’s a lot of work!”

“The dough for the cinnamon rolls was waiting in the fridge, a few things came from a nearby vegan café, the rest was quite easy.”

“Nonetheless, this is quite a menu.”

“And that’s not all…” Greg walked back to the living room, then knelt near the tree. “Come here love, I’ve got a little something for you.”

“You shouldn’t have… Wait a moment!” Opening his computer bag, he removed two little parcels and sat near his boyfriend. “I have something for you too…”

“Mine is something silly, I hope you are not going to be disappointed.” Hopeful, Greg gave a long box wrapped in colourful paper to Mycroft and waited as the man carefully unwrapped it.

“Oh… this is...! I didn’t know it was available in such a nice format!” It was a deluxe edition of the board game Risk. The board itself was made of wood, the pieces were carefully crafted. “I played so much with my uncle, the games would go on for days…” Something (that was obviously not tears) appeared in the normally cold man’s eyes. “This, this is wonderful Gregory.”

“I don’t know how to play; I am going to need help… but I am certain that you are the best man to show me how to conquer the world using conflict and diplomacy.”

“You will get the hang of it really quickly, I am certain.” He leaned to press a kiss onto Greg’s lips. “Thank you.”

“My pleasure.”

“And now! I’ve been carrying these around for days waiting for the occasion!” Mycroft first gave Greg a small long box.

Removing the paper quickly, Greg slightly frowned at a small black screen. “A… watch? Electronic... kind of?”

Laughing at the man's confusion, Mycroft quickly pressed a button to open the high-tech gadget. “Yes, a ‘watch’. But it’s more than that, after a lot of pressure from Anthea I finally got one also.” He removed his own one from his pocket. “It’s a watch but it’s also a secured communication device. I am going to know where you are and-“

“Mycroft! I’ve told you already what I think of being monitored and spied on! I know nothing of your whereabouts and-“

Mycroft shook his head, chagrined that his boyfriend had quickly jumped to the wrong conclusion. “I am going to know where you are… and you will know exactly where I am at all times. No more secrets.”

“But,” Greg gasped as with a touch on the screen a map of York with two little dots blinking in that small lane appeared. “Isn’t this unsafe for you? If something happens… I don’t want to be the cause of –“

“Don’t worry. If someone other than me or you touch the watch, it is going to send a distress message and shut down.”

“God, I am going to feel like a spy!” It was Greg's turn to steal a kiss from his own MI-whatever-number boyfriend. “Or more precisely, a Bond girl!”

“The Spy who Loves… You!” Mycroft countered.

“We are so going to do a James Bond marathon! John is going to be thrilled!” Eying another small parcel, he asked, “and this… am I lucky enough for two gifts?”

“It’s just something silly that I brought from one of my trips.” Suddenly shy, he extended his hand to give the small gift to Greg.

“What is it… Oh! It’s from Japan!” It was a Ninja figurine with exquisite craftsmanship. _ Japan! It was in the first week of our relationship before it was even a relationship… He thought about me! _

“Yes,” Mycroft secretly chuckled as he remembered his conversation about Karaoke Ninja with a particularly drunk Lestrade. “Just a little souvenir.”

“It’s going to go to the place of honour on my desk!” Extending his hand, he helped Mycroft to his feet. “I am so lucky to have you, you know.” With a flourish he turned his wrist, “and it even gives the time! Oh my, it’s nearly 11. Are you hungry? I am going to start a pot of coffee and then we will be ready.”

“Let me help you –“ Spotting too many plates on the table, Mycroft frowned at the idea that maybe Greg tried to push that idea of re-doing his childhood perfect Christmas a bit too far.  _ Not my parents… please. _ “Love, why is there so much –“ He was interrupted by the joyful sound of the doorbell.

“I should probably tell you… we won’t brunch alone." With an apological and nervous smile, the policeman rushed to the door, leaving a worried Mycroft behind. But as soon as he opened the door, a high pitch scream invaded the quiet cottage. “Uncle Greg! It’s Christmas!”

“Hello you little minx, did you find coal in your sock this morning?”

“No! Don’t be silly, I am a troublesome but overall good girl.” She replied seriously as if the man was crazy.

“The most perfect child, without a doubt,” Mycroft added from the entrance of the kitchen.

His eyes scrutinising intently behind his brother, he exhaled calmly when he realized that besides John nobody else was there. The doctor smiled at the warmth coming from the old house. “Hello you two, hope we are not intruding…”

Greg was in such a happy mood that he instinctively took Rosie in his arms. “Sod that, it’s been ages!” He then proceeded to give her big kisses on her cold cheeks. 

“Don’t worry we’ve been tested first thing this morning and haven’t stopped on our way.”

“Come on everyone,” Mycroft invited, “come on, we have food for a small army! Sherlock, you won’t believe what Greg gave me!”

Later, as everyone sat around the table, the echoes of an animated discussion and happiness resonated in the small cottage. Old stories were shared, future plans of walking around the Shambles with Rosie were made, Greg proudly showed his Q-level watch to a teasing John, and an epic rematch for a 25-year-old Risk game was about to begin…

It was perfect.

Their own bubble of love.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally! 
> 
> I was thinking of Skyping or Zooming the Mr and Ms Holmes but I decided that Mycroft deserved a break lol
> 
> Prompt:
> 
> This story takes place on Christmas day. You must mention a previous argument, use the word ' nostalgia ',and include this line of dialogue: "I should probably tell you..."


End file.
